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«£j» Vol-6,No. 249. Oct. 17, 1883. Annual Subwrlption, $50.00.* 




THE CRAYON 

PAPERS 



BY 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 



at the Poet Offloe, N. Y., as second-class matter. afe 
Copyright, 1883, by John W. Lovbia Co, •• 



^£NEW YORK^ 



♦ TO !\N • W • I, oV£ L, L • Co^\P5\H Y* 







LOVELL'S LIBRARY -CATALOGUE. 



Hyperion, by IT. W Longfellow.. 20 
Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfe.low.20 

The Happy Boy, by BjOruson 10 

Arne, by BjOrnson 10 

Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley... 10 

The Last of the Mohicans 20 

Ciytie, by Joseph Hatton 20 

The Moonstone, by * ollins, P't 1. 10 
TheMo>:ist^ne. by Collins. P'tll. 10 
Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. 20 

The Coming Race, by Lytton 10 

Leila, by Lord Lytton 10 

The Three Spaniards, by Walker. 20 
TheTricks of the GreeksUnveiled.20 
L'Abbe Constantin, byHalevy..20 
Freckles, by R. F Redcliff.. ..20 
The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay .20 
They Were Harried! by Walter 

Besant and «J ames Rice 10 

Seekers after God, by Farrar 20 

The Spanish Nun. by DeQuincey.10 

The Green Mountain Boys 20 

Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe 20 

Second Thoughts, by Broughton.20 
The New Magdalen, by Collins.. 20 

Divorce, by Margaret Lee 20 

Life of Washington, by Henley. 20 
Social Etiquette, by Mrs. Saville.15 
Single Heart and Double Face.. 10 

Irene by Carl Detlef 20 

Vice Vers&, by F. Anstey 20 

Ernest Maltravers, by Lord LyttonSO 
The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton.. 10 
John Halifax, by Miss Mulock. . .20 

800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

The Cryptogram, by Jules Verne. 10 

Life of Marion, by Horry 20 

Paul and Virginia 10 

Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. .2 i 

The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 
riage of Moira Fergus, Black .10 

A Marringe in V igh Life 20 

Robin, by Mrs. Parr 20 

Two on a Tower, by Thos Hardy.20 
Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson — 10 
Alice; or, the Mysteries, being 

Part II. of Ernest Maltravers. .20 
Duke of Kandos, by A. Mathey. ..20 

Baron Munchausen 10 

A Princess of Thule, by Black.. 20 
The Secret Despatch, by Grant, 20 
Early Days of Christianity, by 

Canon Farrar, D D , Part I .... 20 
Early Days of Christianity , Pt. 11.20 
Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith. 10 
Progress and Poverty, by Henry 

George 20 

The Spy, by Cooper 20 

East Lynne, by Mrs. Wood... 20 
A Strange Story, by Lord Lytton. . . 20 

Adam Bede, by Eliot, Part 1 15 

Adam Bede, Part II 15 

The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon. . . .20 

Portia, by The Duchess 20 

Last DayB of Pompeii, by Lytton. . 20 
The Two Duchesses, by Mathey. .20 
Tom Brown's School Davs 20 



90. 
91. 

9?. 

93. 
94. 

95. 

PC. 
97. 

98. 
99. 
100. 

101. 
102. 

103. 

104. 

105. 

10G. 

107. 

103. 
109. 
110. 
111. 
112. 



The Wooing O't, by Mrs. Alex- 
ander, Parti II 

The Wooing O't. Part II IS 

The Vendetta, by Balzac ..... .20 

Hypatia.by Chas. Kingsley,P'tI. II 
Hy patia, by Kingsley, Part II. ... 15 

Selma, by Mrs. J. G. Smith 15 

Margaret and her Bridesmaids. .20 
Horse Shoe Robinson, Part I.... 15 
Horse Shoe Robinson, Part II. . .15 

Gulliver's Travels, by Swift 20 

Amos Barton, by George Eliot... 10 

The Berber, by W E.Mayo 20 

Silas Marner, by George Eliot. . .10 

The Queen of the County 20 

Life of Cromwell, by Hood... 15 
Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte\20 

Child's History of England 20 

Molly Bawn, by The Duchess. . .20 

Pillone, by William BergeOe 15 

Phyllis, by The Duchess 20 

Romola, by Geo. Eliot, Part I. . .15 
Romola, by Geo. Eliot, Part II. .15 

Science in Short Chapters 20 

Zanoni,by Lord Lytton 20 

A Daughter of Heth 20 

The Right and Wrong Uses of 
the Bible, R. HeberNewton...20 

Night and Mornin g, Pt. 1 15 

Night and Morning, Part II 15 

Shandon Bells, by Wm. Black. .20 

Monica, by the Duchess 10 

Heart and Science, by Collins. . .20 
The Golden Calf, by Braddon. . .20 

The Dean's Daughter 20 

Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess. .20 

Pickwick Papers, Part 1 20 

Pickwick.Papers, Part II 20 

Airy, Fairy Lilian, The Duchess. 20 
McLeod of Dare, by Wm. Black.20 
Tempest Tossed, by Tilton. P'tl 20 
TempestTosped,byTilton,P'tn20 
Letters from High Latitudes, by 

Lord Dufferin 20 

Gideon Flevce, by Lucy 20 

I jdia and Ceylon, by E. Hseckel . .20 

The Gypsy Queen 20 

The Admiral's Ward 20 

> import, by E.L. Bynner, P'tl. .15 
Nimport, byE. L. Bynner, Pt II. 15 

Harry Holbrooke 20 

Tritons, by E. L. Bynner, P'tl. . . 15 
Tritons, by E.L. Bynner, P til.. 15 
Let Nothing You Dismay, by 

Walter Besant 10 

Lady Audley's Secret, by Miss 

M. E? Braddon 20 

Woman's Place To-day, by Mrs. 

Lillie Devereux Blake 20 

Dunallan, by Kennedy, Parti. . .15 
Dunallan, by Kennedy, Part II. .15 
Housekeeping and Home-mak- 
ing, by Marion Harland 15 

No New Thing, by W. E. Norris.20 

The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

False Hopes, by Goldwin Smith. 15 

Labor and Capital 20 

Wanda, by Ouida, Part 1 10 

Wanda, by Ouida, Part II IS 



TM.U 



CBAYON PAPEKS 



BY 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



NEW YORK: 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, 



THE CRAYON PAPERS. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Mount Jot 5 

The Great Mississippi Bubble 41 

Don Juan— A Spectral Research 70 

Broek; or the Dutch Paradise ^ 78 

Sketches in Paris, 1828— My French Neighbor; the Englishman at Paris; Eng- 
lish and French Character; the Tuileries and Windsor Castle; the Field of 

Waterloo ; Paris at the Restoration 83 

American Researches in Italy— Life of Tasso ; Recovery of a Lost Portrait of 

Dante 101 

The Taking of the Veil 106 

The Charming Letorieres 113 

The Early Experiences op Ralph Ringwood 110 

The Seminoles— Origin of the White, Red, and Black Men; the Conspiracy of 

Neamathla 144 

Letter prom Granada 155 

Abderahman, Founder of the Dynasty of the Ommiades in Spain 161 

The Widow's Ordeal 179 

The Creole Village 189 

A Contented Man 196 



THE CRAYON PAPERS. 



BY 



GEOFFBEY CEATON, GENT 



MOUNT JOY: 

OR SOME PASSAGES OUT OF THE LIFE OF A CASTLE-BUILDER. * 

I was born among romantic scenery, in one of the wildest 
parts of the Hudson, which at that time was not so thickly 
settled as at present. My father was descended from one of the 
old Huguenot families, that came over to this country on the 
revocation of the edict of Nantz. He lived in a styletof ea,sy, 
rural independence, on a patrimonial estate that had been for 
two or three generations in the family. He was an indolent, 
good-natured man, who took the world as it went, and had a 
kind of laughing philosophy, that parried all rubs and mis- 
haps, and served him in the place of wisdom. This was the 
part of his character least to my taste; for I was of an enthusi- 
astic, excitable temperament, prone to kindle up with new 
schemes and projects, and he was apt to dash my sallying 
enthusiasm by some unlucky joke ; so that whenever I was in 
a glow with any sudden excitement, I stood in mortal dread of 
his good-humor. 

Yet he indulged me in every vagary ; for I was an only son, 
and of course a personage of importance in the household. I 
had two sisters older than myself, and one younger. The 
former were educated at New York, under the eye of a 
maiden aunt; the latter remained at home, and was my 
cherished playmate, the companion of my thoughts. We 
were two imaginative little beings, of quick susceptibility, 
and prone to see wonders and mysteries in everything around 
us. Scarce had we learned to read, when our mother made 
us holiday presents of all the nursery literature of the day; 



6 THE CRAYON PAPERS 

which at that time consisted of little books covered with gilt 
paper, adorned with "cuts," and filled with tales of fairies, 
giants, and enchanters. What draughts of delightful fiction 
did we then inhale ! My sister Sophy was of a soft and ten- 
der nature. She would weep over the woes of the Children 
in the Wood, or quake at the dark romance of Blue-Beard, 
and the terrible mysteries of the blue chamber. But I was 
all for enterprise and adventure. I burned to emulate the 
deeds of that heroic prince who delivered the white cat from 
her enchantment ; or he of no less royal blood, and doughty 
enterprise, who broke the charmed slumber of the Beauty in 
the Wood ! 

The house in w'hich we lived was just the kind of place to 
foster such propensities. It was a venerable mansion, half 
villa, half farmhouse. The oldest part was of stone, with 
loop-holes for musketry, having served as a family fortress 
in the time of the Indians. To this there had been made vari- 
ous additions, some of brick, some of wood, according to the 
exigencies of the moment; so that it was full of nooks and 
crooks, and chambers of all sorts and sizes. It was buried 
among willows, elms, and cherry trees, and surrounded with 
roses and hollyhocks, with honeysuckle and sweet-brier 
clambering about every window. A brood of hereditary 
pigeons sunned themselves upon the roof; hereditary swal- 
lows and martins built about the eaves and chimneys; and 
hereditary bees hummed about the flower-beds. 

Under the influence of our story-books every object around 
us now assumed a new character, and a charmed interest. 
The wild flowers were no longer the mere ornaments of the 
fields, or the resorts of the toilful bee ; they were the lurking 
places of fairies. We would watch the humming-bird, as it 
novered around the trumpet creeper at our porch, and the 
butterfly as it flitted up into the blue air, above the sunny 
tree tops, and fancy them some of the tiny beings from fairy 
land. I would call to mind all that I had read of Eobin Good- 
fellow and his power of transformation. Oh how I envied him 
that power ! How I longed to be able to compress my form 
into utter littleness ; to ride the bold dragon-fly ; swing on the 
tall bearded grass ; follow the ant into his subterraneous habi- 
tation, or dive into the cavernous depths of the honeysuckle ! 

While I was yet a mere child I was sent to a daily school, 
about two miles distant. The school-house was on the edge of 
a, wood, close by a brook overhung vf ith birches, alders, and 



MOUNT JOT. 7 

dwarf willows. We of the school who lived at some distance 
came with our dinners put up in little baskets. In the in- 
tervals of school hours we would gatlior round a spring, 
under a tuft of hazel-bushes, and have a kind of picnic; 
interchanging the rustic dainties with which our provident 
mothers had fitted us out. Then when our joyous repast was 
over, and my companions were disposed for play, I would 
draw forth one of my cherished story-books, stretch myself 
on the greensward, and soon lose myself in its bewitching 
contents. 

I became an oracle among my schoolmates on account of my 
superior erudition, and soon imparted to them the contagion 
of my infected fancy. Often in the evening, after school 
hours, we would sit on the trunk of some fallen tree in the 
woods, and vie with each other in telling extravagant stories, 
until the whip-poor-will began his nightly moaning, and the 
fire-flies sparkled in the gloom. Then came the perilous jour- 
ney homeward. What delight we would take in getting up 
wanton panics in some dusky part of the wood; scampering 
like frightened deer; pausing to take breath; renewing the 
panic, and scampering off again, wild with fictitious terror ! 

Our greatest trial was to pass a dark, lonely pool, covered 
with pond-lilies, peopled with bull-frogs and water snakes, and 
haunted by two white cranes. Oh ! the terrors of that pond ! 
How our little hearts would beat as we approached it ; what 
fearful glances we would throw around I And if by chance a 
plash of a wild duck, or the guttural twang of a bull-frog, 
struck our ears, as we stole quietly by— away we sped, nor 
paused until completely out of the woods, 'j'hen, when I 
reached home what a world of adventures and imaginary 
terrors would I have to relate to my sister Sophy ! 

As I advanced in years, this turn of mind increased upon 
me, and became more confirmed. I abandoned myself to the 
impulses of a romantic imagination, which controlled my 
studies, and gave a bias to all my habits. My father observed 
me continually with a book in my hand, and satisfied himself 
that I was a profound student; but what were my studies? 
Works of fiction; tales of chivalry; voyages of discovery; 
travels in the East ; everything, in short, that partook of adven- 
ture and romance. I well remember with what zest I entered 
upon that part of my studies which treated of the heathen 
mythology, and particularly of the sylvan deities. Then in- 
deed my school books became dear to me. The neighborhood 



8 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

was well calculated to foster the reveries of a mind like mine. 
It abounded with solitary retreats, wild streams, solemn for- 
ests, and silent valleys. I would ramble about for a whole day 
with a volume of Ovid's Metamorphoses in my pocket, and 
work myself into a kind of self-delusion, so as to identify the 
surrounding scenes with those of which I had just been read- 
ing. I would loiter about a brook that glided through the 
shadowy depths of the forest, picturing it to myself the haunt 
of Naiads. I would steal round some bushy copse that opened 
upon a glade, as if I expected to come suddenly upon Diana 
and her nymphs, or to behold Pan and his satyrs bounding, 
with whoop and halloo, through the woodland. I would throw 
myself, during the panting heats of a summer noon, under the 
shade of some wide-spreading tree, and muse and dream away 
the hours, in a state, of mental intoxication. I drank in the 
very light of day, as nectar, and my soul seemed to bathe with 
ecstasy in the deep blue of a summer sky. 

In these wanderings, nothing occurred to jar my feelings, or 
bring me back to the realities of life. There is a repose in our 
mighty forests that gives full scope to the imagination. Now 
and then I would hear the distant sound of the wood-cutter's 
axe, or the crash of some tree which he had laid low ; but these 
noises, echoing along the quiet landscape, could easily be 
wrought by fancy into harmony with its illusions. In general, 
however, the woody recesses of the neighborhood were pecu- 
liarly wild and unfrequented. I could ramble for a whole 
day, without coming upon any traces of cultivation. The 
partridge of the wood scarcely seemed to shun my path, and 
the squirrel, from his nut-tree, would gaze at me for an 
instant, with sparkling eye, as if wondering at the unwonted 
intrusion. 

I cannot help dwelling on this delicious period of my life ; 
when as yet I had known no sorrow, nor experienced any 
worldly care. I have since studied much, both of books and 
men, and of course have grown too wise to be so easily pleased ; 
yet with all my wisdom, I must confess I look back with a 
secret feeling of regret to the days of happy ignorance, before 
I had begun to be a philosopher. 



It must be evident that I was in a hopeful training for one 
who was to descend into the arena of life, and wrestle with the 
world. The tutor, also, who superintended my studies in the 



MOUNT JOT. 9 

more advanced stage of my education was just fitted to com- 
plete the fata morgana which was forming in my mind. His 
name was Glencoe. ' He was a pale, melancholy-looking man, 
about forty years of age ; a native of Scotland, liberally edu- 
cated, and who had devoted himself to the instruction of youth 
from taste rather than necessity ; for, as he said, he loved the 
human heart, and delighted to study it in its earlier impulses. 
My two elder sisters, having returned home from a city board- 
ing-school, were likewise placed under his care, to direct their 
reading in history and belle-lettres. 

We all soon became attached to Glencoe. It is true, we were 
at first somewhat prepossessed against him. His meagre, pal- 
lid countenance, his broad pronunciation, his inattention to 
the little forms of society, and an awkward and embarrassed 
manner, on first acquaintance, were much against him; but 
we soon discovered that under this unpromising exterior existed 
the kindest urbanity of temper ; the warmest sympathies ; the 
most enthusiastic benevolence. His mind was ingenious and 
acute. His reading had been various, but more abstruse than 
profound ; his memory was stored, on all subjects, with facts, 
theories, and quotations, and crowded with crude materials for 
thinking. These, in a moment of excitement, would be, as it 
were, melted down, and poured forth in the lava of a heated 
imagination. At such moments, the change in the whole man 
was wonderful. His meagre form would acquire a dignity and 
grace ; his long, pale visage would flash with a hectic glow ; his 
eyes would beam with intense speculation ; and there would be 
pathetic tones and deep modulations in his voice, that delighted 
the ear, and spoke movingly to the heart. 

But what most endeared him to us was the kindness and 
sympathy with which he entered into all our interests and 
wishes. Instead of curbing and checking out* young imagina- 
tions with the reins of sober reason, he was a little too apt to 
catch the impulse and be hurried away with us. He could not 
withstand the excitement of any sally of feeling or fancy, and 
was prone to lend heightening tints to the illusive coloring of 
youthful anticipations. 

Under his guidance my sisters and myself soon entered upon 
a more extended range of studies ; but while they wandered, 
with delighted .minds, through the wide field of history and 
belles-lettres, a nobler walk was opened to my superior intel- 
lect. 

The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mixture of phi- 



10 THE ORAYON PAPERS. 

losophy and poetry. lie was fond of metaphysics and prone 
to indulge in abstract speculations, though his metaphysics 
were somewhat fine spun and fanciful, and his speculations 
were apt to partake of what my father most irreverently 
termed "humbug." For my part, I delighted in them, and 
the more especially because they set my father to sleep and 
completely confounded my sisters. I entered with my accus- 
tomed eagerness into this new branch of study. Metaphysics 
were now my passion. My sisters attempted to accompany 
me, but they soon faltered, and gave out before they had got 
half way through Smith's Theory of the Moral Sentiments. I, 
however, went on, exulting in my strength. Glencoe supplied 
me with books, and I devoured them with appetite, if not diges- 
tion. We walked and talked together under the trees before 
the house, or sat apart, like Milton's angels, and held high con- 
verse upon themes beyond the grasp of ordinary intellects. 
Glencoe possessed a kind of philosophic chivalry, in imitation 
of the old peripatetic sages, and was continually dreaming of 
romantic enterprises in morals, and splendid systems for the 
improvement of society. He had a fanciful mode of illustrat- 
ing abstract subjects, peculiarly to my taste; clothing them 
with the language of poetry, and throwing round them almost 
the magic hues of fiction. " How charming, " thought T, u is 
divine philosophy ;" not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools sup- 
pose, 

" But a perpetual feast of nectar 1 d sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns." 

I felt a wonderful self-complacency at being on such excel- 
lent terms with a man whom I considered on a parallel with 
the sages of antiquity, and looked down with a sentiment of 
pity on the feebler intellects of my sisters, who could compre- 
hend nothing of metaphysics. It is true, when I attempted to 
study them by myself, I was apt to get in a fog; but when 
Glencoe came to my aid, everything was soon as clear to me 
as day. My ear drank in the beauty of his words ; my imagi- 
nation was dazzled with the splendor of his illustrations. It 
caught up the sparkling sands of poetry that glittered through 
his speculations, and mistook them for the golden ore of wis- 
dom. Struck with the facility with which I seemed to imbibe 
and relish the most abstract doctrines, I conceived a still higher 
opinion of my mental powers, and was convinced that I also 
was a philosopher. 



MOUNTJOY. ^2 X 

I was now verging toward man's estate, and though my edu- 
cation had been extremely irregular — following the caprices of 
my humor, which I mistook for the impulses of my genius — 
yet I was regarded with wonder and delight by my mother and 
sisters, who considered me almost as wise and infallible as I 
considered myself. This high opinion of me was strengthened 
"by a declamatory habit, which made me an oracle and orator 
at the domestic board. The time was now at hand, however, 
that was to put my philosophy to the test. 

We had passed through a long winter, and the spring at 
length opened upon us with unusual sweetness. The soft 
serenity of the weather; the beauty of the surrounding coun- 
try ; the joyous notes of the birds ; the balmy breath of flower 
and blossom, all combined to fill my bosom with indistinct sen- 
sations, and nameless wishes. Amid the soft seductions of the 
season, I lapsed into a state of utter indolence, both of body 
and mind. 

Philosophy had lost its charms for me. Metaphysics— faugh ! 
I tried to study ; took down volume after volume, ran my eye 
vacantly over a few pages, and threw them by with distaste. 
I loitered about the house, with my hands in my pockets, and 
an air of complete vacancy. Something was necessary to make 
me happy; but what was that something? I sauntered to the 
apartments of my sisters, hoping their conversation might 
amuse me. They had walked out, and the room was vacant. 
On the table lay a volume which they had been reading. It 
was a novel. I had never read a novel, having conceived a 
contempt for works of the kind, from hearing them universally 
condemned. It is true, I had remarked that they were as uni- 
vensally read ; but I considered them beneath the attention of 
a philosopher, and never would venture to read them, lest I 
should lessen my mental superiority in the eyes of my sisters. 
Nay, I had taken up a work of the kind now and then, when I 
knew my sisters were observing me, looked into it for a mo- 
ment, and then laid it down, with a slight supercilious smile. 
On the present occasion, out of mere listlessness, I took up the 
volume and turned over a few of the first pages. I thought I 
heard some one coming, and laid it down. I was mistaken ; no 
one was near, and what I had read, tempted my curiosity to 
read a little further. I leaned against a window-frame, and in 
a few minutes was completely lost in the story. How long I 
stood there reading I know not, but I believe for nearly two 
hours. Suddenly' I heard my sisters on the stairs, when I 



1£j THE CRAYON PAPEliti, 

thrust the book into my bosom, and the two other volumes 
which lay near into my pockets, and hurried out of the house 
to my beloved woods. Here I remained all day beneath the 
trees, bewildered, bewitched, devouring the contents of these 
delicious volumes, and only returned to the house when it was 
too dark to peruse their pages. 

This novel finished, I replaced it in my sisters' apartment, 
and looked for others. Their stock was ample, for they had 
brought home all that were current in the city ; but my appe- 
tite demanded an immense supply. All this course of reading 
was carried on clandestinely, for I was a little ashamed of it, 
and fearful that my wisdom might be called in question ; but 
this very privacy gave it additional zest. It was " bread eaten 
in secret ;" it had the charm of a private amour. 

But think what must have been the effect of such a course of 
reading on a youth of my temperament and turn of mind; in- 
dulged, too, amid romantic scenery and in- the romantic season 
of the year. It seemed as if I had entered upon a new scene 
of existence. A train of combustible feelings were lighted up 
in me, and my soul was all tenderness and passion. Never 
was youth more completely love-sick, though as yet it was a 
mere general sentiment, and wanted a definite object. Unfor- 
tunately, our neighborhood was particularly deficient in female 
society, and I languished in vain for some divinity to whom 1 
might offer up this most uneasy burden of affections. I was at 
one time seriously enamored of a lady whom I saw occasion- 
ally in my rides, reading at the window of a country-seat ; and 
actually serenaded her with my flute ; when, to my confusion, 
I discovered that she was old enough to be my mother. It was 
a sad damper to my romance ; especially as my father heard 
of it, and made it the subject of one of those household jokes 
which he was apt to serve up at every meal-time. 

I soon recovered from this check, however, but it was only 
to relapse into a state of amorous excitement. I passed whole 
days in the fields, and along the brooks ; for there is something 
in the tender passion that makes us alive to the beauties of 
nature. A soft sunshiny morning infused a sort of rapture 
into my breast. I flung open my arms, like the Grecian youth 
in Ovid, as if I would take in and embrace the balmy atmos- 
phere.* The song of the birds melted me to tenderness. I 
would lie by the side of some rivulet for hours, and form gar- 

* Ovid's " Metamorphoses," Book vn. 



MOUNTJOY. 13 

lands of the flowers on its banks, and muse on ideal beauties, 
and sigh from the crowd of undefined emotions that swelled 
my bosom. 

In this state of amorous delirium, I was strolling one morn- 
ing along a beautiful wild brook, which I had discovered in a 
glen. There was one place where a small waterfall, leaping 
from among rocks into a natural basin, made a scene such as a 
poet might have chosen as the haunt of some shy Naiad. It 
was here I usually retired to banquet on my novels. In visiting 
the place this morning I traced distinctly, on the margin of the 
basin, which was of fine clear sand, the prints of a female foot 
of the most slender and delicate proportions. This was suffi- 
cient for an imagination like mine. Robinson Crusoe himself, 
when he discovered the print of a savage foot on the beach of 
his lonely island, could not have been more suddenly assailed 
with thick-coming fancies. 

I endeavored *to track the steps, but they only passed for a 
few paces along the fine sand, and then were lost among tho 
herbage. I remained gazing in reverie upon this passing trace 
of loveliness. It evidently was not made by any of my sisters, 
for they knew nothing of this haunt; beside, the foot was 
smaller than theirs; it was remarkable for its beautiful deli- 
cacy. 

My eye accidentally caught two or three half -withered wild 
flowers lying on the ground. The unknown nymph had 
doubtless dropped them from her bosom! Here was a new 
document of taste and sentiment. I treasured them up as 
invaluable relics. The place, too, where I found them, was 
remarkably picturesque, and the most beautiful part of the 
brook. It was overhung with a fine elm, entwined with grape- 
vines. She who could select such a spot, who could delight in 
wild brooks, and wild flowers, and silent solitudes, must have 
fancy, and feeling, and tenderness ; and with all these qualities, 
she must be beautiful ! 

But who could be this Unknown, that had thus passed by, as 
in a morning dream, leaving merely flowers and fairy footsteps 
to tell of her loveliness? There was a mystery in it that be- 
wildered me. It was so vague and disembodied, like those 
"airy tongues that syllable men's names" in solitude. Every 
attempt to solve the mystery was vain. I could hear of no 
being in the neighborhood to whom this trace could be 
ascribed. I haunted the spot, and became daily more and 
more enamored. Never, surely, was passion more pure and 



14 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

spiritual, and never lover in more dubious situation. My case 
could be compared only to that of the amorous prince in the 
fairy tale of Cinderella ; but he had a glass slipper on which to 
lavish his tenderness. I, alas ! was in love with a footstep ! 
The imagination is alternately a cheat and a dupe; nay, 



more, it is the most subtle of cheats, for it cheats itself and 
becomes the dupe of its own delusions. It conjures up "airy 
nothings," gives to them a "local habitation and a name," and 
then bows to their control as implicitly as though they were 
realities. Such was now my case. The good Numa could not 
more thoroughly have persuaded himself that the nymph 
Egeria hovered about her sacred fountain and communed with 
him in spirit, than I had deceived myself into a kind of vision- 
ary intercourse with the airy phantom fabricated in my brain. 
I constructed a rustic seat at the foot of the tree where I had 
discovered the footsteps. I made a kind of bower there, where 
I used to pass my mornings reading poetry and romances. I 
carved hearts and darts on the tree, and hung it with garlands. 
My heart was full to overflowing, and wanted some faithful 
bosom into which it might relieve itself. What is a lover 
without a confidante? I thought at once of my sister Sophy, 
my early playmate, the sister of my affections. She was so 
reasonable, too, and of such correct feelings, always listening 
to my words as oracular sayings, and admiring my scraps of 
poetry as the very inspirations of the muse. From such a de- 
voted, such a rational being, what secrets could I have? 

I accordingly took her one morning to my favorite retreat. 
She looked around, with delighted surprise, upon the rustic 
seat, the bower, the tree carved with emblems of the tender 
passion. She turned her eyes upon me to inquire the meaning. 

" Oh, Sophy," exclaimed I, clasping both her hands in mine, 
and looking earnestly in her face, " I am in love." 

She started with surprise. 

"Sit down," said I, "and I will tell you all." 

She seated herself upon the rustic bench, and I went into a 
full history of the footstep, with all the associations of idea 
that had been conjured up by my imagination. 

S >phy was enchanted ; it was like a fairy tale ; she had read 
of s' "jh mysterious visitations in books, and the loves thus con- 
ceived were always for beings of superior order, and were 
always happy. She caught the illusion in all its force; her 
cheek flowed ; her eye brightened. 



MOUNT JOT. 15 

" I dare say she's pretty," said Sophy. 

"Pretty!" echoed I, "she is beautiful 1" I went through all 
the reasoning by which I had logically proved the fact to my 
own satisfaction. I dwelt upon the evidences of her taste, her 
sensibility to the beauties of nature ; her soft meditative habit, 
that delighted in solitude. "Oh," said I, clasping my hands, 
"to have' such a companion to wander through these scenes; 
to sit with her by this murmuring stream ; to wreathe garlands 
round her brows ; to hear the music of her voice mingling witli 
the whisperings of these groves ; to — " 

"Delightful! delightful !" cried Sophy; "what a sweet crea- 
ture she must be ! She is just the friend I want. How I shall 
dote upon her ! Oh, my dear brother ! you must not keep her 
all to yourself. You must let me have some share of her!" 

I caught her to my bosom : ' ' You shall— you shall !" cried I, 
" my dear Sophy; we will all live for each other!" 



The conversation with Sophy heightened the illusions of my 
mind; and the manner in which she had treated my day- 
dream identified it with facts and persons and gave it still 
more the stamp of reality. I walked about as one in a trance, 
heedless of the world around, and lapped in an elysium of the 
fancy. 

In this mood I met one morning with Glencoe. He accosted 
me with his usual smile, and was proceeding with some gene- 
ral observations, but paused and fixed on me an inquiring eye. 

"What is the matter with you?" said he, "you seem agi- 
tated; has anything in particular happened?" 

"Nothing," said I, hesitating; " at least nothing worth com- 
municating to you. " 

"Nay, my dear young friend," said he, "whatever is of 
sufficient importance to agitate you is worthy of being com- 
municated to me." 

"Well; but my thoughts are running on what you would 
think a frivolous subject." 

"No subject is frivolous that has the power to awaken 
strong feelings." 

"What think you," said I, hesitating, "what think you of 
love?" 

Glencoe almost started at the question. "Do you call that 
a frivolous subject?" replied he. "Believe me, there is none 
fraught with such deep, such vital interest. If you talk 5 



16 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

indeed, of the capricious inclination awakened by the mere 
charm of perishable beauty, I grant it to be idle in the ex- 
treme; but that love which springs from the concordant 
sympathies of virtuous hearts; that love which is awakened 
by the perception of moral excellence, and fed by meditation 
on intellectual as well as personal beauty; that is a passion 
which refines and ennobles the human heart. Oh, where is 
there a sight more nearly approaching to the intercourse of 
angels, than that of two young beings, free from the sins 
and follies of the world, mingling pure thoughts, and looks, 
and feelings, and becoming as it were soul of one soul and 
heart of one heart! How exquisite the silent converse that 
they hold ; the soft devotion of the eye, that needs no words 
to make it eloquent! Yes, my friend, if there be anything 
in this weary world worthy of heaven, it is the pure bliss of 
such a mutual affection !" 

The words of my worthy tutor overcame all farther re- 
serve. "Mr. G-lencoe," cried I, blushing still deeper, "I am 
in love." 

"And is that what you were ashamed to tell me? Oh, 
never seek to conceal from your friend so important a secret. 
If your passion be unworthy, it is for the steady hand of 
friendship to pluck it forth ; if honorable, none but an enemy 
would seek to stifle it. On nothing does the character and 
happiness so much depend as on the first affection of the 
heart. * Were you caught by some fleeting and superficial 
charm — a bright eye, a blooming cheek, a soft voice, or a 
voluptuous form — I would warn you to beware ; I would tell 
you that beauty is but a passing gleam of the morning, a 
perishable flower; that accident may becloud and blight it, 
and that at best it must soon pass away. But were you in 
love with such a one as I could describe ; young in years, but 
still younger in f eelings ; lovely in person, but as a type of the 
mind's beauty ; soft in voice, in token of gentleness of spirit ; 
blooming in countenance, like the rosy tints of morning kind- 
ling with the promise of a genial day ; and eye beaming with 
the benignity of a happy heart ; a cheerful temper, alive to all 
kind impulses, and frankly diffusing its own f elicity ; a self- 
poised mind, that needs not lean on others for support ; an ele- 
gant taste, that can embellish solitude, and furnish out its own 
enjoyments—" 

"My dear sir," cried I, for I could contain myself no longer, 
" you have described the very person!" 



MOUNT JOY. 17 

"Why, then, my dear young friend," said he, affectionately 
pressing my hand, " in God's name, love on!" 

For the remainder of the day I was in some such state of 
dreamy beatitude as a Turk is said to enjoy when under the 
influence of opium. It must be already manifest how prone I 
was to bewilder myself with picturings of the fancy, so as to 
confound them with existing realities. In the present instance, 
Sophy and Glencoe had contributed to promote the transient 
delusion. Sophy, dear girl, had as u^ual joined with me in 
my castle-building, and indulged in the same train of imagin- 
ings, while Glencoe, duped by my enthusiasm, firmly believed 
that I spoke of a being I had seen and known. By their sym- 
pathy with my feelings they in a manner became associated 
with the Unknown in my mind, and thus linked her with the 
circle of my intimacy. 

In the evening, our family party was assembled in the hall, 
to enjoy the refreshing breeze. Sophy was playing some 
favorite Scotch airs on the piano, while Glencoe, seated apart, 
with his forehead resting on his hand, was buried in one of 
those pensive reveries that made him so interesting to me. 

"What a fortunate being I am!" thought I, "blessed with 
such a sister and such a friend ! I have only to find out this 
amiable Unknown, to wed her, and be happy ! What a para- 
dise will be my home, graced with a partner of such exquisite 
refinement! It will be a perfect fairy bower, buried among 
sweets and roses. Sophy shall live with us, and be the com- 
panion of all our enjoyment. Glencoe, too, shall no more be 
the solitary being that he now appears. He shall have a 
home with us. He shall have his study, where, when he 
pleases, he may shut himself up from the world, and bury him- 
self in his own reflections. His retreat shall be sacred; no 
one shall intrude there; no one but myself, who will visit 
him now and then, in his seclusion, where we will devise 
grand schemes together for the improvement of mankind. 
How delightf ully our days will pass, in a round of rational 
pleasures and elegant employments ! Sometimes we will have 
music; sometimes we will read; sometimes we will wander 
through the flower garden, when I will smile with complacency 
on every flower my wife has planted ; while in the long winter 
evenings the ladies will sit at their work, and listen with 
hushed attention to Glencoe and myself, as we discuss the 
abstruse doctrines of metaphysics." 



18 TEE CRAYON PAPERS. 

From this delectable reverie, I was startled by my father's 
slapping me on the shoulder: " What possesses the lad?" cried 
he; "here have I been speaking to you half a dozen times, 
without receiving an answer." 

"Pardon me, sir," replied I; "I was so completely lost in 
thought, that I did not hear you." 

"Lost in thought! And pray what were you thinking of? 
Some of your philosophy, I suppose." 

"Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, with an arch 
laugh, "I suspect Harry's in love again." 

"And if I were in love, Charlotte," said I, somewhat net- 
tled, and recollecting Glencoe's enthusiastic eulogy of the pas- 
sion, "if I were in love, is that a matter of jest and laughter? 
Is the tenderest and most fervid affection that can animate 
the human breast, to be made a matter of cold-hearted ridi- 
cule?" 

My sister colored. " Certainly not, brother !— nor did I mean 
to make it so, or to say anything that should wound your feel- 
ings. Had I really suspected you had formed some genuine 
attachment, it would have been sacred in my eyes; but — but," 
said she, smiling, as if at some whimsical recollection, "I 
thought that you — you might be indulging in another little 
freak of the imagination." 

"I'll wager any money," cried my father, " he has fallen in 
love again with some old lady at a window !" 

" Oh no !" cried my dear sister Sophy, with the most gracious 
warmth; "she is young and beautiful." 

"From what I understand," said Glencoe, rousing himself, 
"she must be lovely in mind as in person." 

I found my friends were getting me into a fine scrape. I 
began to perspire at every pore, and felt my ears tingle. 

"Well, but," cried my father, "who is she?— what is she? 
Let us hear something about her." 

This was no time to explain so delicate a matter. I caught 
up my hat, and vanished out of the house. 

The moment I was in the open air, and alone, my heart up- 
braided me. Was this respectful treatment to my father— to 
such a father, too — who had always regarded me as the pride 
of his age— the staff of his hopes ? It is true, he was apt some- 
times to laugh at my enthusiastic flights, and did not treat my 
philosophy with due respect ; but when had he ever thwarted 
a wish of my heart ? Was I then to act with reserve toward 
him, in a matter which might affect the whole current of my 



MOUNTJOT. 19 

future life? "I have done wrong," thought I; "but it is not 
too late to remedy it. I will hasten back and open my whole 
heart to my father !" 

I returned accordingly, and was just on the point of entering 
the house, with my heart full of filial piety, and a contrite 
speech upon my lips, when I heard a burst of obstreperous 
laughter from my father, and a loud titter from my two elder 
sisters. 

" A footstep!" shouted he, as soon as he could recover him- 
self; "in love with a footstep ! Why, this beats the old lady at 
the window !" And then there was another appalling burst of 
laughter. Had it been a clap of thunder, it could hardly have 
astounded me more completely. Sophy, in the simplicity of 
her heart, had told all, and had set my father's risible pro- 
pensities in full action. 

Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crestfallen as myself. 
The whole delusion was at an end. I drew off silently from the 
house, shrinking smaller and smaller at every fresh peal of 
laughter; and wandering about until the family had retired, 
stole quietly to my bed. Scarce any sleep, however, visited 
my eyes that night! I lay overwhelmed with mortification, 
and meditating how I might meet the family in the morning. 
The idea of ridicule was always intolerable to me; but to 
endure it on a subject by which my feelings had been so much 
excited, seemed worse than death. I ahnost determined, at 
one time, to get up, saddle my horse, and ride off, I knew not 
whither. 

At length I came to a resolution. Before going down to 
breakfast, I sent for Sophy, and employed her as ambassador 
to treat formally in the matter: I insisted that the subject 
should be buried in oblivion ; otherwise I would not show my 
face at table. It was readily agreed to; for not one of the 
family would have given me pain for the world. They faith- 
fully kept their promise. Not a word was said of the matter ; 
but there were wry faces, and suppressed titters, that went to 
my soul; and whenever my father looked me in the face, it 
was with such a tragi-comical leer — such an attempt to pull 
down a serious brow upon a whimsical mouth — that I had a 
thousand times rather he had laughed outright. 



For a day or two after the mortifying occurrence just re- 
lated, I kept as much m possible out of the way of the family, 



20 TIIE CRAYON PAPERS. 

and wandered about the fields and woods by myself. I was 
sadly out of tune ; my feelings were all jarred and unstrung. 
The birds sang from every grove, but I took no pleasure in 
their melody ; and the flowers of the field bloomed unheeded 
around me. To be crossed in love, is bad enough; but then 
one can fly to poetry for relief, and turn one's woes to account 
in soul-subduing stanzas. But to have one's whole passion, 
object and all, annihilated, dispelled, proved to be such stuff as 
dreams are made of — or, worse than all, to be turned into a 
proverb and a jest — what consolation is there in such a case ? 

I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen the footstep. My 
favorite resort was now the banks of the Hudson, -where I sat 
upon the rocks and mused upon the current that dimpled by, 
or the waves that laved the shore; or watched the bright 
mutations of the clouds, and the shifting lights and shadows 
of the distant mountain. By degrees a returning serenity 
stole over my feelings ; and a sigh now and then, gentle and 
easy, and unattended by pain, showed that my heart was re- 
covering its susceptibility. 

As I was sitting in this musing mood my eye became gra- 
dually fixed upon an object that was borne along by the tide. 
It proved to be a little pinnace, beautifully modelled, and 
gayly painted and decorated. It was an unusual sight in this 
neighborhood, which was rather lonely ; indeed, it was rare to 
see any pleasure-barks in this part of the river. As it drew 
nearer, I perceived that there was no one on board ; it had 
apparently drifted from its anchorage. There was not a breath 
of air ; the little bark came floating along on the glassy stream, 
wheeling about with the eddies. At length it ran aground, 
almost at the foot of the rock on which I was seated. I de- 
scended to the margin of the river, and drawing the bark to 
shore, admired its light and elegant proportions and the taste 
with which it was fitted up. The benches were covered with 
cushions, and its long streamer was of silk. On one of the 
cushions lay a lady's glove, of delicate size and shape, with 
beautifully tapered fingers. I instantly seized it and thrust it 
in my bosom; it seemed a match for the fairy footstep that 
had so fascinated me. 

In a moment all the romance of my bosom was again in a 
glow. Here was one of the very incidents of fairy tale ; a bark 
sent by some invisible power, some good genius, or benevolent 
fairy, to waft me to some delectable adventure. I recollected 
something of an enchanted bark, drawn by white swans, that 



MOUNT JOT. 21 

conveyed a knight down the current of the Rhine, on some 
enterprise connected with love and beauty. The glove, too, 
showed that there was a lady fair concerned in the present 
adventure. It might be a gauntlet of defiance, to dare me to 
the enterprise. 

In the spirit of romance and the whim of the moment, I 
sprang on board, hoisted the light sail, and pushed from shore. 
As if breathed by some presiding power, a light breeze at that 
moment sprang up, swelled out the sail, and dallied with the 
silken streamer. For a time I glided along under steep umbra- 
geous banks, or across deep sequestered bays ; and then stood 
out over a wide expansion of the river toward a high rocky 
promontory. It was a lovely evening ; the sun was setting in 
a congregation of clouds that threw the whole heavens in a 
glow, and were reflected in the river. I delighted myself with 
all kinds of fantastic fancies, as to what enchanted island, or 
mystic bower, or necromantic palace, I was to be conveyed by 
the fairy bark. 

In the revel of my fancy I had not noticed that the gorgeous 
congregation of clouds which had so much delighted me was 
in fact a gathering thunder-gust. I perceived the truth too 
late. The clouds came hurrying on, darkening as they 
advanced. The whole face of nature was suddenly changed, 
and assumed that baleful and livid tint, predictive of a storm. 
I tried to gain the shore, but before I could reach it a blast of 
wind struck the water and lashed it at once into foam. The 
next moment it overtook the boat. Alas ! I was nothing of a 
sailor ; and my protecting fairy forsook me in the moment of 
peril. I endeavored to lower the sail ; but in so doing I had to 
quit the helm ; the bark was overturned in an instant, and I 
was thrown into the water. I endeavored to cling to the 
wreck, but missed my hold; being a poor swimmer, I soon 
found myself sinking, but grasped a light oar that was floating 
by me. It was not sufficient for my support ; I again sank 
beneath the surface ; there was a rushing and bubbling sound 
in my ears, and all sense forsook me. 



How long I remained insensible, I know not. I had a con- 
fused notion of being moved and tossed about, and of hearing 
strange beings and strange voices around me ; but all was like 
a hideous dream. When I at length recovered full conscious- 
ness and perception, I found myself in bed in a spacious cham- 



22 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ber, furnished with more taste than I had been accustomed to. 
The bright rays of a morning sun were intercepted by curtains 
of a delicate rose color, that gave a soft, voluptuous tinge to 
every object. Not far from my bed, on a classic tripod, was a 
basket of beautiful exotic flowers, breathing the sweetest fra- 
grance. 

1 ' Where am I ? How came I here ?" 

I tasked my mind to catch at some previous event, from 
which I might trace up the thread of existence to the present 
moment. By degrees I called to mind the fairy pinnace, my 
daring embarkation, my adventurous voyage, and my disas- 
trous shipwreck. Beyond that, all was chaos. How came I 
here? What unknown region had I landed upon? The people 
that inhabited it must be gentle and amiable, and of elegant 
tastes, for they loved downy beds, fragrant flowers, and rose- 
colored curtains. 

While I lay thus musing, the tones of a harp reached my ear. 
Presently they were accompanied by a female voice. It came 
from the room below; but in the profound stillness of my 
chamber not a modulation was lost. My sisters were all con- 
sidered good musicians, and sang very tolerably ; but I had 
never heard a voice like this. There was no attempt at diffi- 
cult execution, or striking effect; but there were exquisite 
inflections, and tender turns, which art could not reach. 
Nothing but feeling and sentiment could produce them. It 
was soul breathed forth in sound. I was always alive to the 
influence of music; indeed, I was susceptible of voluptuous 
influences of every kind— sounds, colors, shapes, and fra- 
grant odors. I was the very slave of sensation. 

I lay mute and breathless, and drank in every note of this 
siren strain. It thrilled through my whole frame, and filled 
my soul with melody and love. I pictured to myself, with 
curious logic, the form of the unseen musician. Such melodi- 
ous sounds and exquisite inflections could only be produced by 
organs of the most delicate flexibility. Such organs do not 
belong to coarse, vulgar forms; they are the harmonious 
results of fair proportions and admirable symmetry. A being 
so organized must be lovely. 

Again my busy imagination was at work. I called to 
mind the Arabian story of a prince, borne away .during sleep 
by a good genius, to the distant abode of a princess of rav- 
ishing beauty. I do not pretend to say that I believed in hav- 
ing experienced a similar transportation ; but it was my in vet- 



MOUNT JOT. 23 

erate habit to cheat myself with fancies of the kind, and to 
give the tinge of illusion to surrounding realities. 

The witching sound had ceased, but its vibrations still played 
round my heart, and filled it with a tumult of soft emotions. 
At this moment, a self -upbraiding pang shot through my 
bosom. u Ali, recreant!" a voice seemed to exclaim, "is this 
the stability of thine affections? What ! hast thou so soon for- 
gotten the nymph of the fountain? Has one song, idly piped 
in thine ear, been sufficient to charm away the cherished ten- 
derness of a whole summer?" 

The wise may smile —but I am in a confiding mood, and must 
confess my weakness. I felt a degree of compunction at this 
sudden infidelity, yet I could not resist the power of present 
fasciaation. My peace of mind was destroyed by conflicting 
claims. The nymph of the fountain came over my memoiy, 
with all the associations of fairy footsteps, shady groves, soft 
echoes, and wild streamlets; but this new passion was pro- 
duced by a strain of soul-subduing melody, still lingering in my 
ear, aided by a downy bed, fragrant flowers, and rose-colored 
curtains. " Unhappy youth !" sighed I to myself, "distracted 
by such rival passions, and the empire of thy heart thus vio- 
lently contested by the sound of a voice, and the print of a 
footstep !" 



I had not remained long in this mood, when I heard the door 
of the room gently opened. I turned my head to see what 
inhabitant of this enchanted palace should appear; whether 
page in green, hideous dwarf, or haggard fairy. It was my 
own man Scipio. He advanced with cautious step, and was 
delighted, as he said, to find me so much myself again. My 
first questions were as to where I was and how I came there? 
Scipio told me a long story of his having been fishing in a 
canoe at the time of my hare-brained cruise ; of his noticing 
the gathering squall, and my impending danger; of his has- 
tening to join me, but arriving just in time to snatch me from 
a watery grave ; of the great difficulty in restoring me to ani- 
mation ; and of my being subsequently conveyed, in a state of 
insensibility, to this mansion. 

"But where am I?" was the reiterated demand. 

" In the house of Mr. Somerville." 

" Somerville— Somerville !" I recollected to have heard that 
a gentleman of that name had recently taken up his residence 



24 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

at some distance from my father's abode, on the opposite side 
of the Hudson. He was commonly known by the name of 
" French Somerville," from having passed part of his early life 
in France, and from his exhibiting traces of French taste in 
his mode of living, and the arrangements of his house. In 
fact, it was in his pleasure-boat, which had got adrift, that I 
had made my fanciful and disastrous cruise. All this was sim- 
ple, straightforward matter of fact, and threatened to demolish 
all the cobAveb romance I had been spinning, when fortunately 
I again heard the tinkling of a harp. I raised myself in bed, 
and listened. 

"Scipio," said I, with some little hesitation, "I heard some 
one singing just now. Who was it?" 

" Oh, that was Miss Julia." 

"Julia! Julia! Delightful ! what a name ! And, Scipio — is 
she — is she pretty?" 

Scipio grinned from ear to ear. "Except Miss Sophy, she 
was the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen." 

I should observe, that my sister Sophia was considered by 
all the servants a paragon of perfection. 

Scipio now offered to remove the basket of flowers ; he was 
afraid their odor might be too powerful; but Miss Julia had 
given them that morning to be placed in my room. 

These flowers, then, had been gathered by the fairy fingers 
of my unseen beauty ; that sweet breath which had filled my 
ear with melody had passed over them. I made Scipio hand 
them to me, culled several of the most delicate, and laid them 
on my bosom. 

Mr. Somerville paid me a visit not long afterward. He was 
an interesting study for me, for he was the father of my unseen 
beauty, and probably resembled her. I scanned him closely. 
He was a tall and elegant man, with an open, affable manner, 
and an erect and graceful carriage. His eyes were bluish-gray, 
and though not dark, yet at times were sparkling and expres- 
sive. His hair was dressed and powdered, and being lightly 
combed up from his forehead, added to the loftiness of his 
aspect. He was fluent in discourse, but his conversation had 
the quiet tone of polished society, without any of those bold 
nights of thought, and picturings of fancy, which I so much 
admired. 

My imagination was a little puzzled, at first, to make out of 
this assemblage of personal and mental qualities, a picture that 
should harmonize with my previous idea of the fair unseen* 



mountjot. 25 

By dint, however, of selecting what it liked, and giving a touch 
here and a touch there, it soon furnished out a satisfactory 
portrait. 

"Julia must be tall," thought I, " and of exquisite grace and 
dignity. She is not quite so courtly as her father, for' she has 
been brought up in the retirement of the country. Neither is 
she of such vivacious deportment ; for the tones of her voice 
are soft and plaintive, and she loves pathetic music. She is 
rather pensive — yet not too pensive ; just what is called inter- 
esting. Her eyes are like her father's, except that they are of 
a purer blue, and more tender and languishing. She has light 
hair — not exactly flaxen, for I do not like flaxen hair, but 
between that and auburn. In a word, she is a tall, elegant, 
imposing, languishing, blue-eyed, romantic-looking beauty." 
And having thus finished her picture, I felt ten times more in 
love with her than ever. 



I felt so much recovered that I would at once have left 
my room, but Mr. Somerville objected to it. He had sent 
early word to my family of my safety ; and my father arrived 
in the course of the morning. He was shocked at learning the 
risk I had run, but rejoiced to find me so much restored, and 
was warm in his thanks to Mr. Somerville for his kindness. 
The other only required, in return, that I might remain two or 
three days as his guest, to give time for my recovery, and for 
our forming a closer acquaintance ; a request which my father 
readily granted. Scipio accordingly accompanied my father 
home, and returned with a supply of clothes, and with affec- 
tionate letters from my mother and sisters. 

The next morning, aided by Scipio, I made my toilet with 
rather more care than usual, and descended the stairs with 
some trepidation, eager to see the original of the portrait which 
had been so completely pictured in my imagination. 

On entering the parlor, I found it deserted. Like the rest of 
the house, it was furnished in a foreign style. The curtains 
were of French silk; there were Grecian couches, marble 
tables, pier-glasses, and chandeliers. What chiefly attracted 
my eye, were documents of female taste that I saw around 
me ; a piano, with an ample stock of Italian music : a book of 
poetry lying on the sofa ; a vase of fresh flowers on a table, and 
a portfolio open with a skilful and half -finished sketch of them. 
In the window was a canary bird, in a gilt cage, and near by, 



26 TEE CRAYON PAPERS. 

the harp that had been in Julia's arms. Happy harp ! But 
where was the being that reigned in this little empire of deli- 
cacies?— that breathed poetry and song, and dwelt among birds 
and flowers, and rose-colored curtains? 

Suddenly I heard the hall door fly open, the quick pattering 
of light steps, a wild, capricious strain of music, and the shrill 
barking of a dog. A light, frolic nymph of fifteen came trip- 
ping into the room, playing on a flageolet, with a little spaniel 
romping after her. Her gipsy hat had fallen back upon her 
shoulders ; a profusion of glossy brown hair was blown in rich 
ringlets about her face, which beamed through them with the 
brightness of smiles and dimples. 

At sight of me she stopped short, in the most beautiful con- 
fusion, stammered out a word or two about looking for her 
father, glided out of the door, and I heard her bounding up 
the staircase, like a frighted fawn, with the little dog barking 
after her. 

When Miss Somerville returned to the parlor, she was quite 
a different being. She entered, stealing along by her mother's 
side with noiseless step, and sweet timidity: her hair was 
prettily adjusted, and a soft blush mantled on her damask 
cheek. Mr. Somerville accompanied the ladies, and introduced 
me regularly to them. There were many kind inquiries and 
much sympathy expressed, on the subject of my nautical acci- 
dent, and some remarks upon the wild scenery of the neighbor- 
hood, with which the ladies seemed perfectly acquainted. 

" You must know," said Mr. Somerville, " that we are great 
navigators, and delight in exploring every nook and corner of 
the river. My daughter, too, is a great hunter of the pictur- 
esque, and transfers every rock and glen to her portfolio. By 
the way, my dear, show Mr. Mount joy that pretty scene you 
have lately sketched." Julia complied, blushing, and drew 
from her portfolio a colored sketch. I almost started at the 
sight. It was my favorite brook. A sudden thought darted 
across my mind. I glanced down my eye, and beheld the 
divinest little foot in the world. Oh, blissful conviction ! The 
struggle of my affections was at an end. The voice and the 
footstep were no longer at variance. Julia Somerville was the 
nymph of the fountain ! 



What conversation passed during breakfast I do not recol- 
lect, and hardly was conscious of at the time, for my thoughts 



MOUNT JOT. 27 

were in complete confusion. I wished to gaze on Miss Somer- 
ville,but did not dare. Once, indeed, I ventured a glance. She 
was at that moment darting a similar one from under a covert 
of ringlets. Our eyes seemed shocked by the rencontre, and 
fell; hers through the natural modesty of her sex, mine 
through a bashfulness produced by the previous workings of 
my imagination. That glance, however, went like a sun-beam 
to my heart. 

. A convenient mirror favored my diffidence, and gave me the 
reflection of Miss Somerville's form. It is true it only present- 
ed the back of her head, but she had the merit of an ancient 
statue ; contemplate her from any point of view, she was beau- 
tiful. And yet she was totally different from everything I had 
before conceived of beauty. She was not the serene, medita- 
tive maid that I had pictured the nymph of the fountain ; nor 
the tall, soft, languishing, blue-eyed, dignified being that I had 
fancied the minstrel of the harp. There was nothing of dignity 
about her : she was girlish in her appearance, and scarcely of 
the middle size ; but then there was the tenderness of budding 
youth ; the sweetness of the half -blown rose, when not a tint 
or perfume has been withered or exhaled; there were smiles 
and dimples, and all the soft witcheries of ever- varying expres- 
sion. I wondered that I could ever have admired any other 
style of beauty. 

After breakfast, Mr. Somerville departed to attend to the 
concerns of his estate, and gave me in charge of the ladies. 
Mrs. Somerville also was called away by household cares, and 
I was left alone with Julia! Here, then, was the situation 
which of all others I had most coveted. I was in the presence 
of the lovely being that had so long been the desire of my 
heart. We were alone; propitious opportunity for a lover! 
Did I seize upon it? Did I break out in one of my accustomed 
rhapsodies? No such thing! Never was being more awk- 
wardly embarrassed. 

"What can be the cause of this?" thought I. "Surely, I 
cannot stand in awe of this young girl. I am of course her 
superior in intellect, and am never embarrassed in company 
with my tutor, notwithstanding all his wisdom." 

It was passing strange. I felt that if she were an old woman, 
I should be quite at my ease ; if she were even an ugly woman, 
I should make out very well: it was her beauty that over- 
powered me. How little do lovely women know what awful 
beings they are, in the eyes of inexperienced youth ! Young 



28 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

men brought up in the fashionable circles of our cities will 
smile at all this. Accustomed to mingle incessantly in female 
society, and to have the romance of the heart deadened by a 
thousand frivolous flirtations, women are nothing but women 
in their eyes ; but to a susceptible youth like myself, brought 
up in the country, they are perfect divinities. 

Miss Somerville was at first a little embarrassed herself ; but, 
some how or other, women have a natural adroitness in recov- 
ering their self-possession ; they are more alert in their minds, 
and graceful in their manners. Beside, I was but an ordinary 
personage in Miss Somerville's eyes; she was not under the 
influence of such a singular course of imaginings as had sur- 
rounded her, in my eyes, with the illusions of romance. 
Perhaps, too, she saw the confusion in the opposite camp and 
gained courage from the discovery. At any rate she was the 
first to take the field. 

Her conversation, however, was only on common-place 
topics, and in an easy, well-bred style. I endeavored to re- 
spond in the same manner ; but I was strangely incompetent 
to the task. My ideas were frozen up ; even words seemed to 
fail me. I was excessively vexed at myself, for I wished to be 
uncommonly elegant. I tried two or three times to turn a 
pretty thought, or to utter a fine sentiment ; but it would come 
forth so trite, so forced, so mawkish, that I was ashamed of it. 
My very voice sounded discordantly, though I sought to modu- 
late it into the softest tones. "The truth is," thought I to 
myself, "I cannot bring my mind down to the small talk 
necessary for young girls ; it is too masculine and robust for 
the mincing measure of parlor gossip. I am a philosopher — 
and that accounts for it." 

The entrance of Mrs. Somerville at length gave me relief . I 
at once breathed freely, and felt a vast deal of confidence come 
over me. "This is strange," thought I, "that the appearance 
of another woman should revive my courage ; that I should be 
a better match for two women than one. However, since it is 
so, I will take advantage of the circumstance, and let this 
young lady see that I am not so great a simpleton as she prob- 
ably thinks me." 

I accordingly took up the book of poetry which lay upon the 
sofa. It was Milton's "Paradise Lost." Nothing could have 
been more fortunate ; it afforded a fine scope for my favorite 
vein of grandiloquence. I went largely into a discussion of its 
merits, or rather an enthusiastic eulogy of them. My observa- 



MOUNT JO?. 29 

tions were addressed to Mrs. Somerville, for I found I coulc| 
talk to her with more ease than to her daughter. She 
appeared alive to the beauties of the poet, and disposed to meet 
me in the discussion; but it was not my object to hear her 
talk; it was to talk myself. I anticipated all she had to 
say, overpowered her with the copiousness of my ideas, and 
supported and illustrated them by long citations from the 
author. 

While thus holding forth, I cast a side glance to see how 
Miss Somerville was affected. She had some embroidery 
stretched on a frame before her, but had paused in her labor, 
and was looking down as if lost in mute attention. I felt a 
glow of self-satisfaction, but I recollected, at the same time, 
with a kind of pique, the advantage she had enjoyed over me 
in our tete-a-tete. I determined to push my triumph, and ac- 
cordingly kept on with redoubled ardor, until I had fairly ex- 
hausted my subject, or rather my thoughts. 

I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss Somerville 
raised her eyes from the work on which they had been fixed, 
and turning to her mother, observed: " I have been consider- 
ing, mamma, whether to work these flowers plain, or in 
colors." 

Had an ice-bolt shot to my heart, it could not have chilled 
me more effectually. "What a fool," thought I, "have I been 
making itself — squandering away fine thoughts, and fine lan- 
guage, upon a light mind, and an ignorant ear! This girl 
knows nothing of poetry. She has no soul, I fear, for its 
beauties. Can any one have real sensibility of heart, and not 
be alive to poetry? However, she is young; this part of her 
education has been neglected : there is time enough to remed 
it. I will be her preceptor. I will kindle in her mind th, 
sacred flame, and lead her through the fairy land of song. 
But after all, it is rather unfortunate that I should have fallen 
in love with a woman who knows nothing of -poetry." 



I passed a day not altogether satisfactory. I was a little 
disappointed that Miss Somerville did not show any poetical 
feeling. "I am afraid, after all," said I to myself, "she is 
light and girlish, and more fitted to pluck wild flowers, play on 
the flageolet, and romp with little dogs than to converse with 
a man of my turn. " 

I believe, however, to tell the truth, I was more out of 



30 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

humor with myself. I thought I had made the worst first 
appearance that ever hero made, either in novel or fairy tale. 
I was out of all patience, when I called to mind my awkward 
attempts at ease and elegance in the tete-a-tete. And then my 
intolerable long lecture about poetry to catch the applause of 
a heedless auditor ! But there I was not to blame. I had cer- 
tainly been eloquent : it was her fault that the eloquence was 
wasted. To meditate upon the embroidery of a flower, when I 
was expatiating on the beauties of Milton ! She might at least 
have admired the poetry, if she did not relish the manner in 
which it was delivered : though that was not despicable, for I 
had recited passages in my best style, which my mother and 
sisters had always considered equal to a play. "Oh, it is 
evident," thought I, "Miss Somerville has very little soul !" 

Such were my fancies and cogitations during the day, the 
greater part of which was spent in my chamber, for I was still 
languid. My evening was passed in the drawing-room, where 
I overlooked Miss Somerville's portfolio of sketches. 

They were executed with great taste, and showed a nice ob- 
r^rvation of the peculiarities of nature. They were all her own, 
and free from those cunning tints and touches of the drawing- 
master, by which young ladies' drawings, like their heads, are 
dressed up for company. There was no garnish or vulgar trick 
of colors, either ; all was executed with singular truth and sim- 
plicity. 

" And yet," thought I, "this little being, who has so pure an 
u/e to take in, as in a limpid brook, all the graceful forms and 
magic tints of nature, has no soul for poetry !" 

Mr. Somerville, toward the latter part of the evening, observ- 
ing my eye to wander occasionally to the harp, interpreted 
and met my wishes with his accustomed civility. 

"Julia, my dear," said he, "Mr. Mount joy would like to hear 
a little music from your harp ; let us hear, too, the sound of 
your voice." 

Julia immediately complied, without any of that hesitation 
and difficulty, by which young ladies are apt to make company 
pay dear for bad music. She sang a sprightly strain, in a bril- 
liant style, that came trilling playfully over the ear ; and the 
bright eye and dimpling smile showed that her little heart 
danced with the song. Her pet canary bird, who hung close 
by, was awakened by the music, and burst forth into an emu- 
lating strain. Julia smiled with a pretty air of defiance, and 
played louder. 



MOUNT JOY. 31 

After some time, the music changed, and ran into a plaintive 
strain, in a minor key. Then it was, that all the former 
witchery of her voice came over me; then it was that she 
seemed to sing from the heart and to the heart. Her fingers 
moved about the chords as if they scarcely touched them. 
Her whole manner and appearance changed ; her eyes beamed 
with the softest expression; her countenance, her frame, all 
seemed subdued into tenderness. She rose from the harp, 
leaving it still vibrating with sweet sounds, and moved toward 
her father to bid him good night. 

His eyes had been fixed on her intently, during her perfor- 
mance. As she came before him he parted her shining ringlets 
with both his hands, and looked down with the fondness of a 
father on her innocent face. The music seemed still lingering 
in its lineaments, and the action of her father brought a moist 
gleam in her eye. He kissed her fair forehead, after the 
French mode of parental caressing: "Good night, and God 
bless you," said he, "my good little girl!" 

Julia tripped away, with a tear in her eye, a dimple in her 
cheek, and a light heart in her bosom. I thought it the pret- 
tiest picture of paternal and filial affection I had ever seen. 

When I retired to bed, a new train of thoughts crowded into 
my brain. " After all," said I to myself, " it is clear this girl 
has a soul, though she was not moved by my eloquence. She 
has all the outward signs and evidences of poetic feeling. She 
paints well, and has an eye for nature. She is a fine musician, 
and enters into the very soul of song. What a pity that she 
knows nothing of poetry ! But we will see what is to be done. 
I am irretrievably in love with her; what then am I to do? 
Come down to the level of her mind, or endeavor to raise her 
to some kind of intellectual equality with myself? That is the 
most generous course. She will look up to me as a benefactor. 
I shall become associated in her mind with the lofty thoughts 
and harmonious graces of poetry. She is apparently docile: 
beside, the difference of our ages will give me an ascendancy 
over her. She cannot be above sixteen years of age, and I am 
full turned to twenty." So, having built this most delectable 
of air castles, I fell asleep. 



The next morning I was quite a different being. I no longer 
felt fearful of stealing a glance at Julia ; on the contrary, I 
contemplated her steadily, with the benignant eye of a benefac- 



32 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

tor. Shortly after breakfast I found myself alone with her, as 
I had on the preceding morning ; but I felt nothing of the awk- 
wardness of our previous tete-a-tete. I was elevated by the 
consciousness of my intellectual superiority, and should almost 
have felt a sentiment of pity for the ignorance of the lovely 
little being, if I had not felt also the assurance that I should be 
able to dispel it. ' ' But it is time, " thought I, "to open school. " 

Julia was occupied in arranging some music on her piano. 
I looked over two or three songs; they were Moore's Irish 
melodies. 

"These are pretty things!" said I, flirting the leaves over 
lightly, and giving a slight shrug, by way of qualifying the 
opinion. 

"Oh, I love them of all things," said Julia, "they're so 
touching !" 

" Then you like them for the poetry," said I; with an encour- 
aging smile. 

"Oh yes; she thought them charmingly written." 

Now was my time. " Poetry," said I, assuming a didactic 
attitude and air, "poetry is one of the most pleasing studies 
that can occupy a youthful mind. It renders us susceptible of 
the gentle impulses of humanity, and cherishes a delicate per- 
ception of all that is virtuous and elevated in morals, and 
graceful and beautiful in physics. It " 

I was going on in a style that would have graced a professor 
of rhetoric, when I saw a light smile playing about Miss 
Somerville's mouth, and that she began to turn over the leaves 
of a music-book. I recollected her inattention to my discourse 
of the preceding morning. "There is no fixing her light 
mind," thought I, "by abstract theory; we will proceed prac- 
tically." As it happened, the identical volume of Milton's 
Paradise Lost was lying at hand. 

"Let me recommend to you, my young friend," said I, in 
one of those tones of persuasive admonition, which I had so 
often loved in Glencoe, "let me recommend to you this ad- 
mirable poem ; you will find in it sources of intellectual enjoy- 
ment far superior to those songs which have delighted you." 
Julia looked at the book, and then at me, with a whimsically 
dubious air. "Milton's Paradise Lost?" said she; "oh, I 
know the greater part of that by heart." 

I had not expected to find my pupil so far advanced ; how- 
ever, the Paradise Lost is a kind of school-book, and its finest 
passages are given to young ladies as tasks. 



MOUNT JOY. 33 

" I find," said I to myself, " I must not treat her as so conr 
plete a novice ; her inattention yesterday could not have pro- 
ceeded from absolute ignorance, but merely from a want of 
poetic feeling. I'll try her again." 

I now determined to dazzle her with my own erudition, and 
launched into a harangue that would have done honor to an 
institute. Pope, Spenser, Chaucer, and the old dramatic wri- 
ters were all dipped into, with the excursive flight of a 
swallow. I did not confine myself to English poets, but gave 
a glance at the French and Italian schools; I passed over 
Ariosto in full wing, but paused on Tasso's Jerusalem De- 
livered. I dwelt on the character of Clorinda: "There's a 
character," said I, "that you will find well worthy a woman's 
study. It shows to what exalted heights of heroism the sex 
can rise, how gloriously they may share even in the stern con- 
cerns of men." 

"For my part," said Julia, gently taking advantage of a 
pause, "for my part, I prefer the character of Sophronia." 

I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso ! This girl 
that I had been treating as an ignoramus in poetry ! She pro- 
ceeded with a slight glow of the cheek, summoned up perhaps 
by a casual glow of feeling: 

"I do not admire those masculine heroines, " said she, " who 
aim at the bold qualities of the opposite sex. Now Soph- 
ronia only exhibits the real qualities of a woman, wrought 
up to their highest excitement. She is modest, gentle, and 
retiring, as it becomes a woman to be; but she has all the 
strength of affection proper to a woman. She cannot fight for 
her people as Clorinda does, but she can offer herself up, and 
die to serve them. You may admire Clorinda, but you surely 
would be more apt to love Sophronia; at least," added she, 
suddenly appearing to recollect herself, and blushing at having 
launched into such a discussion, "at least that is what papa 
observed when we read the poem together." 

" Indeed, "said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted and nettled at 
being unexpectedly lectured by my pupil; "indeed, I do not 
exactly recollect the passage." 

"Oh," said Julia, "I can repeat it to you;" and she im- 
mediately gave it in Italian. 

Heavens and earth ! — here was a situation ! I knew no more 
of Italian than I did of the language of Psalmanazar. What a 
dilemma for a would-be- wise man to be placed in! I saw 
Julia waited for my opinion- 



34 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

"In fact," said I, hesitating, "I— I do not exactly under- 
stand Italian." 

" Oh," said Julia, with the utmost naivete, "I have no doubt 
it is very beautiful in the translation." 

I was glad to break up school, and get back to my chamber, 
full of the mortification which a wise man in love experiences 
on finding his mistress wiser than himself. "Translation! 
translation !" muttered I to myself, as I jerked the door shut 
behind me: "I am surprised my father has never had me in- 
structed in the modern languages. They are all-important. 
What is the use of Latin and Greek? No one speaks them; 
but here, the moment I make my appearance in the world, a 
little girl slaps Italian in my face. However, thank heaven, a 
language is easily learned. The moment I return home, I'll 
set about studying Italian ; and to prevent future surprise, I 
will study Spanish and German at the same time ; and if any 
young lady attempts to quote Italian upon me again, I'll bury 
her under a heap of High Dutch poetry !" 



I felt now like some mighty chieftain, who has carried the 
war into a weak country, with full confidence of success, and 
been repulsed and obliged to draw off his forces from before 
some inconsiderable fortress. 

"However," thought I, "I have as 'yet brought • only my 
fight artillery into action ; we shall see what is to be done with 
my heavy ordnance. Julia is evidently well versed in poetry ; 
but it is natural she should be so ; "it is allied to painting and 
music, and is congenial to the light graces of the female char- 
acter. We will try her on graver themes." 

I felt all my pride awakened; it even for a time swelled 
higher than my love. I was determined completely to estab- 
lish my mental superiority, and subdue the intellect of this 
little being; it would then be time to sway the sceptre of 
gentle empire, and win the affections of her heart. 

Accordingly, at dinner I again took the field, enpotence. I 
now addressed myself to Mr. Somerville, for I was about to 
enter upon topics in which a young girl like her could not be 
well versed" I led, or rather forced, the conversation into a 
vein of historical erudition, discussing several of the most 
prominent facts of ancient history, and accompanying them 
with sound, indisputable apothegms. 

Mr. Somerville listened to me with the air of a man re^ 



MOUNTJOY. 3g 

ceiving information. I was encouraged, and went on glori- 
ously from theme to theme of school declamation. I sat with 
Marius on the ruins of Carthage ; I defended the bridge with 
Horatius Codes ; thrust my hand into the flame with Martius 
Scsevola, and plunged with Curtius into the yawning gulf; I 
fought side by side with Leonidas, at the straits of Thermo- 
pylae ; and was going full drive into the battle of Plataea, when 
my memory, which is the worst in the world, failed me, just 
as I wanted the name of the Lacedemonian commander. 

"Julia, my dear," said Mr. Somerville, "perhaps you may 
recollect the name of which Mr. Mount joy is in quest?" 

Julia colored slightly. "I believe," said she, in a low voice, 
"I believe it was Pausanias." 

This unexpected sally, instead of reinforcing me, threw my 
whole scheme of battle into confusion, and the Athenians re- 
mained unmolested in the field. 

I am half inclined, since, to think Mr. Somerville meant this 
as a sly hit at my schoolboy pedantry ; but he was too well 
bred not to seek to relieve me from my mortification. " Oh!" 
said he, " Julia is our family book of reference for names, 
dates, and distances, and has an excellent memory for history 
and geography." 

I now became desperate ; as a last resource I turned to meta- 
physics. "If she is a philosopher in petticoats," thought I, 
"it is all over with me." Here, nowever, I had the field to 
myself. I gave chapter and verse of my tutor's lectures, 
heightened by all his poetical illustrations ; I even went further 
than he had ever ventured, and plunged inte such depths of 
metaphysics, that I was in danger of sticking in the mire at 
the bottom. Fortunately, I had auditors who apparently 
could not detect my flounderings. Neither Mr. Somerville nor 
his daughter offered the least interruption. 

When the ladies had retired, Mr. Somerville sat some time 
with me ; and as I was no longer anxious to astonish, I per- 
mitted myself to listen, and found that he was really agreeable. 
He was quite communicative, and from his conversation I was 
enabled to form a juster idea of his daughter's character, and 
the mode in which she had been brought up. Mr. Somerville 
had mingled much with the world, and with what is termed 
fashionable society. He had experienced its cold elegancies 
and gay insincerities ; its dissipation of the spirits and squan- 
derings of the heart. Like many men of the world, though he 
had wandered too far from nature ever to return to it, yet he 



36 TKB ORATOR PAPERS. 

had the good taste and good feeling to look back fondly to its 
simple delights, and to determine that his child, if possible, 
should never leave them. He had superintended her education 
with scrupulous care, storing her mind with the graces of 
polite literature, and with such knowledge as would enable it 
to furnish its own amusement and occupation, and giving her 
all the accomplishments that sweeten and enliven the circle of 
domestic life. He had been particularly sedulous to exclude 
all fashionable affectations; all false sentiment, false sensi- 
bility, and false romance. "Whatever advantages she may 
possess," said he, "she is quite unconscious of them. She is 
a capricious little being, in everything but her affections ; she 
is, however, free from art; simple, ingenuous, amiable, and, I 
thank God! happy." 

Such was the eulogy of a fond father, delivered with a ten- 
derness that touched me. I could not help making a casual 
inquiry, whether, among the graces of polite literature, he had 
included a slight tincture of metaphysics. He smiled, and told 
me he had not. 

On the whole, when, as usual, that night, I summed up the 
day's observations on my pillow, I was not altogether dissatis- 
fied. "Miss Somerville," said I, "loves poetry, and I like her 
the better for it. She has the advantage of me in Italian; 
agreed ; what is it to know a variety of languages, but merely 
to have a variety of soimds to express the«same idea? Original 
thought is the ore of the mind ; language is but the accidental 
stamp and coinage by which it is put into circulation. If I 
can furnish an original idea, what care I how many languages 
she can translate it into? She may be able also to quote 
names, and dates, and latitudes better than I; but that is a 
mere effort of the memory. I admit she is more accurate in 
history and geography than I ; but then she knows nothing 
of metaphysics." 

I had now sufficiently recovered to return home ; yet I could 
not think of leaving Mr. Somerville's without having a little 
further conversation with him on the subject of his daughter's 
education. 

" This Mr. Somerville," thought I, "is a very accomplished, 
elegant man ; he has seen a good deal of the world, and, upon 
the whole, has profited by what he has seen. He is not with- 
out information, and, as far as he thinks, appears to think 
correctly; but after all, he is rather superficial, and does 
not think profoundly. He seems to take no delight in those 



MOUNT JOT. 87 

metaphysical abstractions that are the proper aliment of mas- 
culine minds." I called to mind various occasions in which I 
had indulged largely in metaphysical discussions, but could 
recollect no instance where I had been able to draw him out. 
He had listened, itis true, with attention, and smiled as if in 
acquiescence, but had always appeared to avoid reply. Be- 
side, I had made several sad blunders in the glow of eloquent 
declamation ; but he had never interrupted me, to notice and 
correct them, as he would have done had he been versed in 
the theme. 

"Now, it is really a great pity," resumed I, "that he should 
have the entire management of Miss Somerville's education. 
What a vast advantage it would be, if she could be put for a 
little time under the superintendence of Glencoe. He would 
throw some deeper shades of thought into her mind, which at 
present is all sunshine ; not but that Mr. Somerville has done 
very well, as far as he has gone ; but then he has merely pre- 
pared the soil for the strong plants of useful knowledge. She 
is well versed in the leading facts of history, and the general 
course of belles-lettres," said I; "a little more philosophy 
would do wonders." 

I accordingly took occasion to ask Mr. Somerville for a few 
moments' conversation in his study, the morning I was to 
depart. When we were alone I opened the matter fully to 
him. I commenced with the warmest eulogium of Glencoe's 
powers of mind, and vast acquirements, and ascribed to him 
all my proficiency in the higher branches of knowledge. I 
begged, therefore, to recommend him as a friend calculated to 
direct the studies of Miss Somerville; to lead her mind, by 
degrees, to the contemplation of abstract principles, and to 
produce habits of philosophical analysis; "which," added I, 
gently smiling, " are not often cultivated by young ladies." I 
ventured to hint, in addition, that he would find*Mr. Glencoe 
a mosfr valuable and interesting acquaintance for himself; one 
who would stimulate and evolve the powers of his mind ; and 
who might open to him tracts of inquiry and specidation, to 
which perhaps Le had hitherto been a stranger. 

Mr. Somerville listened with grave attention. When I had 
finished, he thanked me in the politest manner for the interest 
I took in the welfare of his daughter and himself.. He ob- 
served that, as regarded himself, he was afraid he was too old 
to benefit by the instruction of Mr. Glencoe, and that as to his 
daughter, he was afraid her mind was but little fitted for the 



38 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

study of metaphysics. "I do not wish," continued he, "to 
strain her intellects with subjects they cannot grasp, but to 
make her familiarly acquainted with those that are within the 
limits of her capacity. I do not pretend to prescribe the 
boundaries of female genius, and am far from indulging the 
vulgar opinion, that women are unfitted by nature for the 
highest intellectual pursuits. I speak only with reference to 
my daughter's tastes and talents. She will never make a 
learned woman ; nor, in truth, do I desire it ; for such is the 
jealousy of our sex, as to mental as well as physical ascend- 
ancy, that a learned woman is not always the happiest. I do 
not wish my daughter to excite envy, or to battle with the 
prejudices of the world ; but to glide peaceably through life, 
on the good will and kind opinions of her friends. She has 
ample employment for her little head, in the course I have 
marked out for her ; and is busy at present with some branches 
of natural history, calculated to awaken her perceptions to the 
beauties and wonders of nature, and to the inexhaustible vol- 
ume of wisdom constantly spread open before her eyes. I 
consider that woman most likely to make an agreeable com- 
panion, who can draw topics of pleasing remark from every 
natural object ; and most likely to be cheerful and contented, 
who is continually sensible of the order, the harmony, and the 
invariable beneficence, that reign throughout the beautiful 
world we inhabit." 

"But," added he, smiling, "I am betraying myself into a 
lecture, instead of merely giving a reply to your kind offer. 
Permit me to take the liberty, in return, of inquiring a little 
about your own pursuits. You speak of having finished your 
education; but of course you have a line of private study and 
mental occupation marked out; for you must know the impor- 
tance, both in point of interest and happiness, of keeping the 
mind employed. May I ask what system you observe in your 
intellectual exercises?" 

" Oh, as to system," I observed, " I could never bring myself 
into anything of the kind. I thought it best to let my genius 
take its own course, as it always acted the most vigorously 
when stimulated by inclination." 

Mr. Somerville shook his head. "This same genius," said 
he, " is a wild quality, that runs away with our most promis- 
ing young men. It has become so much the fashion, too, to 
give it the reins, that it is now thought an animal of too noble 
and generous a nature to be brought to harness. But it is all 



MOUNTJOY. 39 

a mistake. Nature never designed these high endowments to 
run riot through society, and throw the whole system into 
confusion. No, my dear sir, genius, unless it acts upon sys- 
tem, is very apt to he a useless quality to society ; sometimes 
an injurious, and certainly a very uncomfortable one, to its 
possessor. I have had many opportunities of seeing the pro- 
gress through life of young men who were accounted geniuses, 
and have found it too often end in early exhaustion and bitter 
disappointment; and have as often noticed that these effects 
might be traced to a total want of system. There were no 
habits of business, of steady purpose, and regular application, 
superinduced upon the mind; everything was left to chance 
and impulse, and native luxuriance, and everything of course 
ran to waste and wild entanglement. Excuse me if I am 
tedious on this point, for I feel solicitous to impress it upon 
you, being an error extremely prevalent in our country and 
one into which too many of our youth have fallen. I am 
happy, however, to observe the zeal which still appears to 
actuate you for the acquisition of knov/ledge, and augur every 
good from the elevated bent of your ambition. May I ask 
what has been your course of study for the last six months?" 

Never was question more unluckily timed. For the last six 
months I had been absolutely buried in novels and romances. 

Mr. Somerville perceived that the question was embarrass- 
ing, and with his invariable good breeding, immediately re- 
sumed the conversation, without waiting for a reply. He took 
care, however, to turn it in such a way as to draw from me an 
account of the whole manner in which I nad been educated, 
and the various currents of reading into which my mind had 
run. He then went on to discuss, briefly but impressively, 
the different branches of knowledge most important to a 
young man in my situation ; and to my surprise I found him 
a complete master of those studies on which I had supposed 
him ignorant, and on which I had been descanting so confi- 
dently. 

He complimented me, however, very graciously, upon the 
progress I had made, but advised me for the present to turn 
my attention to the physical rather than the moral sciences. 
''These studies," said he, "store a man's mind with valuable 
facts, and at the same time repress self-confidence, by letting 
him know how boundless are the realms of knowledge, and 
how little we can possibly know. Whereas metaphysical stu- 
dies, though of an ingenious order of intellectual employment. 



40 THE CBAYOJy PAPERS. 

are apt to bewilder some minds with vague speculations. They 
never know how far they have advanced, or what may be the 
correctness of their favorite theory. They render many of our 
young men verbose and declamatory, and prone to mistake 
the aberrations of their fancy for the inspirations of divine 
philosophy." 

I could not but interrupt him, to assent to the truth of these 
remarks, and to say that it had been my lot, in the course of 
my limited experience, to encomiter young men of the kind, 
who had overwhelmed me by their verbosity. 

Mr. Somerville smiled. "I trust," said he, kindly, "that 
you will guard against these errors. Avoid the eagerness with 
which a young man is apt to hurry into conversation, and to 
utter the crude and ill-digested notions which he has picked up 
in his recent studies. Be assured that extensive and accurate 
knowledge is the slow acquisition of a studious lifetime ; that a 
young man, however pregnant his wit, and prompt his talent, 
can have mastered but the rudiments of learning, and, in a 
maimer, attained the implements of study. Whatever may 
have been your past assiduity, you must be sensible that as 
yet you have but reached the threshold of true knowledge ; but 
at the same time, you have the advantage that you are still 
very young, and have ample time to learn." 

Here our conference ended. I walked out of the study, a very 
different being from what I was on entering it. I had gone in 
with the air of a professor about to deliver a lecture ; I came 
out like a student who had failed in his examination, and been 
degraded in his class. 

"Very young," and "on the threshold of knowledge" ! This 
was extremely flattering, to one who had considered himself 
an accomplished scholar, and profound philosopher. 

"It is singular," thought I; "there seems to have been a 
spell upon my faculties, ever since I have been in this house. 
I certainly have not been able to do myself justice. Whenever 
I have undertaken to advise, I have had the tables turned upon 
me. It must be that I am strange and diffident among people 
I am not accustomed to. I wish they could hear me talk at 
home !" 

"After all," added I, on further reflection, "after all, there 
is a great deal of force in what Mr. Somerville has said. Some- 
how or other, these men of the world do now and then hit 
upon remarks that would do credit to a philosopher. Some of 
his general observations came so home, that I almost thought 



TEE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 41 

they were meant for myself. His advice about adopting a 
system of study is very judicious* I will immediately put it 
in practice. My mind shall operate henceforward with the 
regularity of clock-work," 

How far T succeeded in adopting this plan, how I fared in 
the further p rsuit of knowledge, and how I succeeded in my 
suit to Julia Somerville, may afford matter for a further com- 
munication to the public, if this simple record of my early life 
is fortunate enough to excite any curiosity. 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 
U A time of unexampled prosperity." 

In the course of a voyage from England, I once fell in with 
a convoy of merchant ships bound for the West Indies. The 
weather was uncommonly bland ; and the ships vied with each 
other in spreading sail to catch a light, favoring breeze, until 
their hulls were almost hidden beneath a cloud of canvas. 
The breeze went down wjth the sun, and his last yellow rays 
shone upon a thousand sails, idly flapping against the masts. 

I exulted in the beauty of the scene, and augured a pros- 
perous voyage ; but the veteran master of the ship shook his 
head, and pronounced this halcyon calm a " weather-breeder." 
And so it proved. A storm burst forth in the night ; the sea 
roared and raged ; and when the day broke, I beheld the late 
gallant convoy scattered in every direction ; some dismasted, 
others scudding under bare poles, and many firing signals of 
distress. 

I have since been occasionally reminded of this scene, by 
those calm, sunny seasons in the commercial world, which are 
known by the name of "times of unexampled prosperity." 
They aue the sure weather-breeders of traffic. Every now and 
then the world is visited by one of these delusive seasons, when 
" the credit system," as it is called, expands to full luxuriance, 
everybody trusts everybody; a bad debt is a thing unheard of; 
the broad way to certain and sudden wealth lies plain and 
open ; and men are tempted to dash forward boldly, from the 
facility of borrowing. 

Promissory notes, interchanged between scheming indi- 



42 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

viduals, are liberally discounted at the banks, which become 
so many mints to coin words into cash ; and as the supply of 
words is inexhaustible, it may readily be supposed what a vast 
amoimt of promissory capital is soon in circulation. Every one 
now talks in thousands ; nothing is heard but gigantic opera- 
tions in trade ; great purchases and sales of real property, and 
immense sums made at every transfer. All, to be sure, as yet 
exists in promise ; but the believer in promises calculates the 
aggregate as solid capital, and falls back in amazement at the 
amount of public wealth, the "unexampled state of public 
prosperity." 

Now is the time for speculative and dreaming or designing 
men. They relate their dreams and projects to the ignorant 
and credulous, dazzle them with golden visions, and set them 
madding after shadows. The example of one stimulates 
another; speculation rises on speculation; bubble rises on 
bubble; every one helps with his breath to swell the windy 
superstructure, and admires and wonders at the magnitude of 
the inflation he has contributed to produce. 

Speculation is the romance of trade, and casts contempt upon 
all its sober realities. It renders the stock-jobber a magician, 
and the exchange a region of enchantment. It elevates the 
merchant into a kind of knight-errant, or rather a commercial 
Quixote. The slow but sure gains of snug percentage become 
despicable in his eyes; no "operation" is thought worthy 01 
attention, that does not double or treble the investment. No 
business is worth following, that does not promise an imme- 
diate fortune. As he sits musing oyer his ledger, with pen 
behind his ear, he is like La Mancha's hero in his study, 
dreaming over his books of chivalry. His dusty counting- 
house fades before his eyes, or changes into a Spanish mine; 
he gropes after diamonds, or dives after pearls. The subter- 
ranean garden of Aladdin is nothing to the realms of wealth 
that break upon his imagination. 

Could this delusion always last, the life of a merchant would 
indeed be a golden dream ; but it is as short as it is brilliant. 
Let but a doubt enter, and the "season of unexampled pros- 
perity" is at end. The coinage of words is suddenly curtailed ; 
the promissory capital begins to vanish into smoke ; a panic 
succeeds, and the whole superstructure, built upon credit, 
and reared by speculation, crumbles to the ground, leaving 
scarce a wreck behind : 

" It is such stuff as dreams are made of." 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 43 

When a man of business, therefore, hears on every side 
rumors of fortunes suddenly acquired; when he finds banks 
liberal, and brokers busy ; when he sees adventurers flush of 
paper capital, and full of scheme and enterprise ; when he per- 
ceives a greater disposition to buy than to sell ; when trade 
overflows its accustomed channels and deluges the country; 
when he hears of .new regions of commercial adventure; of 
distant marts and distant mines, swallowing merchandise and 
disgorging gold; when he finds joint stock companies of all 
kinds forming; railroads, canals, and locomotive engines, 
springing up on every side ; when idlers suddenly become men 
of business, and dash into the game of commerce as they would 
into the hazards of the faro table ; when he beholds the streets 
glittering with new equipages, palaces conjured up by the 
magic of speculation ; tradesmen flushed with sudden success, 
and vying with each other in ostentatious expense ; in a word, 
when he hears the whole community joining in the theme of 
"unexampled prosperity," let him look upon the whole as a 
"weather-breeder," and prepare for the impending storm. 

The foregoing remarks are intended merely as a prelude to 
a narrative I am about to lay before the public, of one of the 
most memorable instances of the infatuation of gain, to be 
found in the whole history of commerce. I allude to the 
famous Mississippi bubble. It is a matter that has passed into 
a proverb, and become a phrase in every one's mouth, yet of 
which not one merchant in ten has probably- a, distinct idea. 
I have therefore thought that an authentic account of it would 
be interesting and salutary, at the present moment, when we 
are suffering under the effects of a severe access of the credit 
system, and just recovering from one of its ruinous delusions. 



Before entering into the story of this famous chimera, it is 
proper to give a few particulars concerning the individual who 
engendered it. John Law was born in Edinburgh in 1671. 
His father, William Law, was a rich goldsmith, and left his 
son an estate of considerable value, called Lauriston, situated 
about four miles from Edinburgh. Goldsmiths, in those days, 
acted occasionally as bankers, and his father's operations, 
under this character, may have originally turned the thoughts 
of the youth to the science of calculation, in which he became 
an adept ■ so that at an early age he excelled in playing at all 
games of combination. 



44 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

In 1694 he appeared in London, where a handsome person, 
and an easy and insinuating address, gained him currency in 
the first circles, and the nick-name of "Beau Law." The same 
personal advantages gave him success in the world of gal- 
lantry, until he became involved in a quarrel with Beau 
Wilson, his rival in fashion, whom he killed in a duel, and 
then fled to France, to avoid prosecution. 

He returned to Edinburgh in 1700, and remained there seve- 
ral years ; during which time he first broached his great credit, 
system, offering to supply the deficiency of coin by the estab- 
lishment of a bank, which, according to his views, might emit 
a paper currency, equivalent to the whole landed estate of the 
kingdom. 

His scheme excited great astonishment in Edinburgh ; but, 
though the government was not sufficiently advanced in finan- 
cial knowledge to detect the fallacies upon which it was 
founded, Scottish caution and suspicion served in the place 
of wisdom, and the project was rejected. Law met with no 
better success with the English Parliament ; and the fatal affair 
of the death of Wilson still hanging over him, for winch he 
had never been able to procure a pardon, he again went to 
France. 

The financial affairs of France were at this time in a deplor- 
able condition. The wars, the pomp and profusion, of Louis 
XIV., and his religious persecutions of whole classes of the 
most industrious of his subjects, had exhausted his treasury, 
and overwhelmed the nation with debt. The old monarch 
clung to his selfish magnificence, and could not be induced to 
diminish his enormous expenditure ; and his minister of finance 
was driven to his wits' end to devise all kinds of disastrous 
expedients to keep up the royal state, and to extricate the 
nation from its embarrassments. 

In this state of things, Law ventured to bring forward his 
financial project. It was founded on the plan of the Bank 
of England, which had already been in successful operation 
several years. He met with immediate patronage, and a con- 
genial spirit, in the Duke of Orleans, who had married a 
natural daughter of the king. The duke had been astonished 
at the facility with which England had supported the burden 
of a public debt, created by the wars of Anne and William, 
and which exceeded in amount that under which France was 
groaning. The whole matter was soon explained by Law to 
his satisfaction. The latter maintained that England had 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 45 

stopped at the mere threshold of an art capable of creating 
unlimited sources of national wealth. The duke was dazzled 
with his splendid views and specious reasonings, and thought 
he clearly comprehended his system. Demarets, the Comp- 
troller General of Finance, was not so easily deceived. He 
pronounced the plan of Law more pernicious than any of the 
disastrous expedients that the government had yet been driven 
to. The old king also, Louis XIV., detested all innovations, 
especially those which came from a rival nation ; the project 
of a bank, therefore, was utterly rejected. 

Law remained for a while in Paris, leading a gay and affluent 
existence, owing to his l^andsome person, easy manners, flexi- 
ble temper, and a faro-bank which he had set up. His agree- 
able career was interrupted by a message from D'Argenson, 
Lieutenant General of Police, ordering him to quit Paris, 
alleging that he was " rather too skilful at the game ivhich he 
had introduced.' 1 '' 

For several succeeding years he shifted his residence from 
state to state of Italy and Germany ; offering his scheme of 
finance to every court that he visited, but without success. 
The Duke of Savoy, Victor Amadeus, afterward King of Sar- 
dinia, was much struck with his project ; but after considering 
it for a time, replied, "lam not sufficiently powerful to ruin 
myself. 1 '' 

The shifting, adventurous life of Law, and the equivocal 
means by which he appeared to live, playing high, and always 
with great success, threw a cloud of suspicion over him, wher- 
ever he went, and caused him to be expelled by the magistracy 
from the semi-commercial, semi-aristocratical cities of Venice 
and Genoa. 

The events of 1715 brought Law back again to Paris. Louis 
XIV. was dead. Louis XV. was a mere child, and during his 
minority the Duke of Orleans held the reigns of government as 
Regent. Law had at length found his man. 

The Duke of Orleans has been differently represented by 
different contemporaries. He appears to have had excellent 
natural qualities, perveuted by a bad education. He was of 
the.middle size, easy and graceful, with an agreeable counte- 
nance, and open, affable demeanor. His mind was quick and 
sagacious, rather than profound; and his quickness of intel- 
lect, and excellence of memory, supplied the lack of studious 
application. His wit was prompt and pungent ; he expressed 
h i m self with vivacity and precision ; his imagination was vivid. 



46 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

his temperament sanguine and joyous; his courage daring. 
His mother, the Duchess of Orleans, expressed his character in 
a jeu d'esprit. "The fairies," said she, "were invited to be 
present at his birth, and each one conferred a talent on my 
son ; he possesses them all. Unfortunately, we had forgotten 
to invite an old fairy, who, arriving after all the others, ex- 
claimed, ' He shall have all the talents, excepting that to make 
a good use of them.' " 

Under proper tuition, the Duke might have risen to real 
greatness ; but in his early years, he was put under the tute- 
lage of the Abbe Dubois, one of the subtlest and basest spirits 
that ever intrigued its way into eminent place and power. 
The Abbe was of low origin, and despicable exterior, totally 
destitute of morals, and perfidious in the extreme ; but with a 
supple, insinuating address, and an accommodating spirit, 
tolerant of all kinds of profligacy in others. Conscious of his 
own inherent baseness, he sought to secure an influence over 
his pupil, by corrupting his principles and fostering his vices ; 
he debased him, to keep himself from being despised. Unfor- 
tunately he succeeded. To the early precepts of this infamous 
pander have been attributed those excesses that disgraced the 
manhood of the Eegent, and gave a licentious character to his 
whole course of government. His love of pleasure, quickened 
and indulged by those who should have restrained it, led him 
into all kinds of sensual indulgence. He had been taught to 
think lightly of the most serious duties and sacred ties ; to turn 
virtue into a jest, and consider religion mere hypocrisy. He 
was a gay misanthrope, that had a sovereign but sportive con- 
tempt for mankind; believed that his most devoted servant 
would be his enemy, if interest prompted ; and maintained that 
an honest man was he who had the art to conceal that he was 
the contrary. 

He surrounded himself with a set of dissolute men like him- 
self; who, let loose from the restraint under which they had 
been held, during the latter hypocritical days of Louis XIV., 
now gave way to every kind of debauchery. With these men 
the Eegent used to shut himself up, after the hours of business, 
and excluding all graver persons and graver concerns, celebrate 
the most drunken and disgusting orgies ; where obscenity and 
blasphemy formed the seasoning of conversation. For the 
profligate companions of these revels, he invented the appella- 
tion of his roues, the literal meaning of which is men broken 
on the wheel ; intended, no doubt, to express their broken-down 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 47 

characters and dislocated fortunes ; although a contemporary- 
asserts that it designated the punishment that most of them 
merited. Madame de Labran, who was present at one of the 
Regent's suppers, was disgusted by the conduct and conversa- 
tion of the host and his guests, and observed at table, that God, 
after he had created man, took the refuse clay that was left, 
and made of it the souls of lacqueys and princes. 

Such was the man that now ruled the destinies of France. 
Law found him full of perplexities, from the disastrous state 
of the finances. He had already tampered with the coinage, 
calling in the coin of the nation, re-stamping it, and issuing it 
at a nominal increase of one fifth ; thus defrauding the nation 
out of twenty per cent of its capital. He was not likely, there- 
fore, to be scrupulous about any means likely to relieve him 
from financial difficulties ; he had even been led to listen to the 
cruel alternative of a national bankruptcy. 

Under these circumstances, Law confidently brought forward 
his scheme of a bank, that was to pay off the national debt, in- 
crease the revenue, and at the same time diminish the taxes. 
The following is stated as the theory by which he recommended 
his system to the Regent. The credit enjoyed by a banker or 
a merchant, he observed, increases his capital tenfold ; that is 
to say, he who has a capital of one himdred thousand livres, 
may, if he possess sufficient credit, extend his operations to a 
million, and reap profits to that amount. In like manner, a state 
that can collect into a bank all the current coin of the kingdom, 
would be as powerful as if its capital were increased tenfold. The 
specie must be drawn into the bank, not by way of loan, or by 
taxations, but in the way of deposit. This might be effected in 
different modes, either by inspiring confidence, or by exerting 
authority. One mode, he observed, had already been in use. 
Each time that a state makes a re-coinage, it becomes momen- 
tarily the depositary of all the money called in, belonging to 
the subjects of that state. His bank was to effect the same 
purpose ; that is to say, to receive in deposit all the coin of the 
kingdom, but to give in exchange its bills, which, being of an 
invariable value, bearing an interest, and being payable on 
demand, would not only supply the place of coin, but prove a 
better and more profitable currency. 

The Regent caught with avidity at the scheme. It suited his 
bold, reckless spirit, and his grasping extravagance. Not that 
he was altogether the dupe of Law's specious projects ; still he 
was apt, like many other men, unskilled in the arcana oi 



48 TUB GUATON PAPEB8. 

finance, to mistake the multiplication of money for the mul- 
tiplication of wealth; not understanding that it was a mere 
agent or instrument in the interchange of traffic, to represent 
the value of the various productions of industry ; and that an 
increased circulation of coin or bank bills, in the shape of cur- 
rency, only adds a proportionably increased and fictitious 
value to such productions. Law enlisted the vanity of the 
Regent in his cause. He persuaded him that he saw more 
clearly than others into sublime theories of finance, which 
were quite above the ordinary apprehension. He used to de- 
clare that, excepting the Regent and the Duke of Savoy, no 
one had thoroughly comprehended his system. 

It is certain that it met with strong opposition from the 
Regent's ministers, the Duke de Noailles and the Chancellor 
d' Anguesseau ; and it was no less strenuously opposed by the 
Parliament of Paris. Law, however, had a potent though 
secret coadjutor in the Abbe Dubois, now rising, during the 
regency, into great political power, and who retained a baneful 
influence over the mind of the Regent. This wily priest, as 
avaricious as he was ambitious, drew large sums from Law as 
subsidies, and aided him greatly in many of his most pernicious 
operations. He aided him, in the present instance, to fortify 
the mind of the Regent against all the remonstrances of his 
ministers and the parliament. 

Accordingly, on the 2d of May, 1716, letters patent were 
granted to Law, to establish a bank of deposit, discount, and 
circulation, under the firm of "Law and Company," to con- 
tinue for twenty years. The capital was fixed at six millions 
of livres, divided into shares of five hundred livres each, which 
were to be sold for twenty-five per cent of the regent's debased 
coin, and seventy-five per cent of the public securities ; which 
were then at a great reduction from their nominal value, and 
which then amounted to nineteen hundred millions. The os- 
tensible object of the bank, as set forth in the patent, was to 
encourage the commerce and manufactures of France. The 
louis d'ors and crowns of the bank were always to retain the 
same standard of value, and its bills to be payable in them on 
demand. 

At the outset, while the bank was limited in its operations, 
and while its paper really represented the specie in its vaults, 
it seemed to realize all that had been promised from it. It 
rapidly acquired public confidence, and an extended circula- 
tion, and produced an activity in commerce, unknown under 



TEE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 49 

the baneful government of Louis XIV. As the bills of the 
bank bore an interest, and as it was stipulated they would be 
of invariable value, and as hints had been artfully circulated 
that the coin would experience successive diminution, every- 
body hastened to the bank to exchange gold and silver for 
paper. So great became the throng of depositors, and so in- 
tense their eagerness, that there was quite a press and struggle 
at the bank door, and a ludicrous panic was awakened, as if 
there was danger of their not being admitted. An anecdote of 
the time relates that one of the clerks, with an ominous smile, 
called out to the struggling multitude, " Have a little patience, 
my friends; we mean to take all your money;" an assertion 
disastrously verified in the sequel. 

Thus, by the simple establishment of a bank, Law and the 
Regent obtained pledges of confidence for the consummation of 
further and more complicated schemes, as yet hidden from the 
public. In a little while, the bank shares rose enormously, and 
the amount of its notes in circulation exceeded one hundred 
and ten millions of livres. A subtle stroke of policy had ren- 
dered it popular with the aristocracy. Louis XIV. had several 
years previously imposed an income tax of a tenth, giving his 
royal word that it should cease in 1717. This tax had been 
exceedingly irksome to the privileged orders ; and in the present 
disastrous times they had dreaded an augmentation of it. In 
consequence of the successful operation of Law's scheme, how- 
ever, the tax was abolished, and'now nothing was to be heard 
among the nobility and clergy, but praises of the Regent and 
the bank. 

• Hitherto all had gone well, and all might have continued to 
go well, had not the paper system been further expanded. 
But Law had yet the grandest part of his scheme to develop. 
He had to open his ideal world of speculation, his El Dorado 
of unbounded wealth. The English had brought the vast 
imaginary commerce of the South Seas in aid of their bank- 
ing operations. Law sought to bring, as an immense auxiliary 
of his bank, the whole trade of the Mississippi. Under this 
name was included not merely the river so called, but the vast 
region known as Louisiana, extending from north latitude 29° 
up to Canada in north latitude 40°. This country had been 
granted by Louis X'fV. to the Sieur Crozat, but he had been 
induced to resign his patent. In conformity to the plea of 
Mr. Law, letters patent were granted in August, 1717, for the 
creation of a commercial company, which was to have the 



50 THE CRAYON PAPBH8. 

colonizing of this country, and the monopoly of its trade and 
resources, and of the beaver or fur trade with Canada. It was 
called the Western, but became better known as the Missis- 
sippi Company. The capital was fixed at one hundred millions 
of livre: 1 , divided into shares, bearing an interest of four per 
cent, which were subscribed for in the public securities. As 
the bank was to co-operate with the company, the Regent 
ordered that its bills should be received the same as coin, in 
all payments of the public revenue. Law was appointed chief 
director of this company, which wcs an exact copy of the Earl 
of Oxford's South Sea Company, set on foot in 1711, and which 
distracted all England with the frenzy of speculation. In like 
manner with the delusive picturings given in that memorable 
scheme of the sources of rich trade to be opened hi the South 
Sea countries, Law held forth magnificent prospects of the 
fortunes to be made in colonizing Louisiana, which was repre- 
sented as a veritable land of promise, capable of yielding every 
variety of the most precious produce. Eeports, too, were art- 
fully circulated, with great mystery, as if to the "chosen 
few," of mines of gold and silver recently discovered in Loui- 
siana, and which would insure instant wealth to the early pur- 
chasers. These confidential whispers of course soon became 
.public ; and were confirmed by travellers fresh from the Mis- 
sissippi, and doubtless bribed, who had seen the mines in 
question, and declared them superior in richness to those of 
Mexico and Peru. Nay, more, ocular proof was furnished to 
public credulity, in ingots of gold conveyed to the mint, as if 
just brought from the mines of Louisiana. 

Extraordinary measures were adopted to force a coloniza- 
tion. An edict was issued to collect and transport settlers to 
the Mississippi. The police lent its aid. The streets and pri- 
sons of Paris, and of the provincial cities, were swept of mendi- 
cants and vagabonds of all kinds, who were conveyed to Havre 
de Grace. About six thousand were crowded into ships, where 
no precautions had been taken for their health or accommoda- 
tion. Instruments of all kinds proper for the working of 
mines were ostentatiously paraded in public, and put on board 
the vessels ; and the whole set sail for this fabled El Dorado, 
which was to prove the grave of the greater part of its 
wretched colonists. 

D'Anguesseau, the chancellor, a man of probity and integ- 
rity, still lifted his voice against the paper system of Law, and 
his project of colonization, and was eloquent and prophetic in 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 51 

picturing the evils they were calculated to produce ; the pri- 
vate distress and public degradation ; the corruption of morals 
and manners ; the triumph of knaves and schemers ; the ruin 
of fortunes, and downfall of families. He was incited more 
and more to this opposition by the Duke de Noailles, the Min- 
ister of Finance, who was jealous of the growing ascendancy 
of Law over the mind of the Regent, but was less honest than 
the chancellor in his opposition. The Regent was excessively 
annoyed by the difficulties they conjured up in the way of his 
darling schemes of finance, and the countenance they gave to 
the opposition of parliament ; which body, disgusted more and 
more with the abuses of the regency, and the system of Law, 
had gone SO far as to carry its remonstrances to the very foot 
of the throne. 

He determined to relieve himself from these two ministers, 
who, either through honesty or policy, interfered with all his 
plans. Accordingly, on the 28th of January, 1718, he dis- 
missed the chancellor from office, and exiled him to his estate 
in the country ; and shortly afterward removed the Duke de 
Noailles from the administration of the finances. 

The opposition of parliament to the Regent and his measures 
was carried on with increasing violence. That body aspired to 
an equal authority with the Regent in the administration of 
affairs, and pretended, by its decree, to suspend an edict of 
the regency, ordering a new coinage and altering the value of 
the currency. But its chief hostility was levelled against 
Law, a foreigner and a heretic, and one who was considered 
by a majority of the members in the light of a malefactor. In 
fact, so far was this hostility carried, that secret measures were 
taken to investigate his malversations, and to collect evidence 
against him; and it was resolved in parliament that, should 
the testimony collected justify their suspicions, they would 
have him seized and brought before them ; would give him a 
brief trial, and if convicted, would hang him in the court- 
yard of the palace, and throw open the gates after the execu- 
tion, that the public might behold his corpse ! 

Law received intimation of the danger hanging over him, 
and was in terrible trepidation. He took refuge in the Palais 
Royal, the residence of the Regent, and implored his protec- 
tion. The Regent himself was embarrassed by the sturdy 
opposition of parliament, which contemplated nothing less- 
than a decree reversing most of his public measures, espe- 
cially those of finance. His indecision kept Law for a time in 



52 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

an agony of terror and suspense. Finally, by assembling a 
board of justice, and bringing to his aid the absolute authority 
of the King, he triumphed over parliament and relieved Law 
from his dread of being hanged. 

The system now went on with flowing sail. The Western or 
Mississippi Company, being identified with the bank, rapidly 
increased in power and privileges. One monopoly after an- 
other was granted to it ; the trade of the Indian seas ; the slave 
trade with Senegal and Guinea ; the farming of tobacco ; the 
national coinage, etc. Each new privilege was made a pretext 
for issuing more bills, and caused an immense advance in the 
price of stock. At length, on the 4th of December^ 1718, the 
Regent gave the establishment the imposing title of The Royal 
Bank, and proclaimed that he had effected the purchase of all 
the shares, the proceeds of which he had added to its capital. 
This measure seemed to shock the public feeling more than 
any other connected with the system, and roused the indigna- 
tion of parliament. The French nation had been so accus- 
tomed to attach an idea of everything noble, lofty, and mag- 
nificent, to the royal name and person, especially during the 
stately and sumptuous reign of Louis XIV., that they could 
not at first tolerate the idea of royalty being in any degree 
mingled with matters of traffic and finance, and the king 
being in a manner a banker. It was one of the downward 
steps, however, by which royalty lost its illusive splendor in 
France, and became gradually cheapened in the public mind. 

Arbitrary measures now began to be taken to force the 
bills of the bank into artificial currency. On the 27th of 
December appeared an order in council, forbidding, under 
severe penalties, the payment of any sum above six hundred 
livres in gold or silver. This decree rendered bank bills neces- 
sary in all transactions of purchase and sale, and called for a 
new emission. The prohibition was occasionally evaded or 
opposed ; confiscations were the consequence ; informers were 
rewarded, and spies and traitors began to spring up' in all the 
domestic walks of life. 

The worst effect of this illusive system was the mania for 
gain, or rather for gambling in stocks, that now seized upon 
the whole nation. Under the exciting effects of lying reports, 
and the forcing effects of government decrees, the shares of 
the company went on rising in value until they reached 
thirteen hundred per cent. Nothing was now spoken of but 
the price of shares, and the immense fortunes suddenly made 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 53 

by lucky speculators. Those whom Law had deluded used 
every means to delude others. The most extravagant dreams 
were indulged, concerning the wealth to flow in upon the com- 
pany from its colonies, its trade, and its various monopolies. 
It is true, nothing as yet had been realized, nor could in some 
time be realized, from these distant sources, even if pro- 
ductive ; but the imaginations of speculators are ever in the 
advance, and their conjectures are immediately converted into 
facts. Lying reports now flew from mouth to mouth, of sure 
avenues to fortune suddenly thrown open. The more extra- 
vagant the fable, the more readily was it believed. To doubt 
was to awaken anger, or incur ridicule. In a time of public 
infatuation, it requires no small exercise of courage to doubt a 
popular fallacy. 

Paris now became the centre of attraction for the adven- 
turous and the avaricious, who flocked to it, not merely from 
the provinces, but from neighboring countries. A stock ex- 
change was established in a house in the Rue Quincampoix, 
and became immediately the gathering place of stock-jobbers. 
The exchange opened at seven o'clock, with the beat of drum 
and sound of bell, and closed at night with the same signals. 
Guards were stationed at each end of the street, to maintain 
order, and exclude carriages and horses. The whole street 
swarmed throughout the day like a bee-hive. Bargains of all 
kinds were seized upon with avidity. Shares of stock passed 
from hand to hand, mounting in value, one knew not why. 
Fortunes were made in a moment, as if by magic ; and every 
lucky bargain prompted those around to a more desperate 
throw of the die. The fever went on, increasing in intensity 
as the day declined ; and when the drum beat, and the bell 
rang, at night, to close the exchange, there were exclamations 
of impatience and despair, as if the wheel of fortune had sud- 
denly been stopped when about to make its luckiest evolution. 

To engulf all classes in this ruinous vortex, Law now split 
the shares of fifty millions of stock each into one hundred 
shares; thus, as in the splitting of lottery tickets, aceommo^ 
dating the venture to the humblest purse. Society was thus 
stirred up to its very dregs, and adventurers of the lowest 
order hurried to the stock market. All honest, industrious 
pursuits, and modest gains, were now despised. Wealth was 
to be obtained instantly, without labor, and without stint.' 
The upper classes were as base in their venality as the lower. 
The highest and most powerful nobles, abandoning all gene- 



54 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

rous pursuits and lofty aims, engaged in the vile scuffle for 
gain. They were even baser than the lower classes ; for some 
of them who were members of the council of the regency, 
abused their station and their influence, and promoted mea- 
sures by which shares arose while in their hands, and they 
made immense profits. 

The Duke de Bourbon, the Prince of Conti, the Dukes de la 
Force and D'Antin were among the foremost of these illustrious 
stock-jobbers. They were nicknamed the Mississippi Lords, 
and they smiled at the sneering title. In fact, the usual distinc- 
tions of society had lost their consequence, under the reign 
of this new passion. Eank, talent, military fame, no longer 
inspired deference. All respect for others, all self-respect, 
were forgotten in the mercenary struggle of the stock-market. 
Even prelates and ecclesiastical corporations, forgetting their 
true objects of devotion, mingled among the votaries of Mam- 
mon. They were not behind those who wielded the civil 
power in fabricating ordinances suited to their avaricious pur- 
poses. Theological decisions forthwith appeared, in which the 
anathema launched by the Church against usury, was con- 
veniently construed as not extending to the traffic in bank 
shares ! 

The Abbe Dubois entered into the mysteries of stock-jobbing 
with all the zeal of an apostle, and enrichedihimself by the 
spoils of the credulous; and he continually drew large sums 
from Law, as considerations for his political influence. Faith- 
less to his country, in the course of his gambling speculations 
he transferred to England a great amount of specie, which 
had been paid into the royal treasury ; thus contributing to 
the subsequent dearth of the precious metals. 

The female sex participated in this sordid frenzy. Prin- 
cesses of the blood, and ladies of the highest nobility, were 
among the most rapacious of stock-jobbers. The Eegent 
seemed to have the riches of Croesus at his command, and 
lavished money by hundreds of thousands upon his female 
relatives and favorites, as well as upon his roues, the dissolute 
companions of his debauches. "My son," writes the Ee- 
gent's mother, in her correspondence, "gave me shares to the 
amount of two millions, which I distributed among my houset 
hold. The King also took several millions for his own house- 
hold. All the royal family have had them; all the children 
and grandchildren of France, and the princes of the blood." 

Luxury and extravagance kept pace with this sudden infla- 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. fig 

tion of fancied wealth. The hereditary palaces of nobles were 
pulled down, and rebuilt on a scale of augmented splendor. 
Entertainments were given, of incredible cost and magnificence. 
Never before had been such display in houses, furniture, equi- 
pages, and amusements. This was particularly the case among 
persons of the lower ranks, who had suddenly become possessed 
of millions. Ludicrous anecdotes are related of some of these 
upstarts. One, who had just launched a splendid carriage, 
when about to use it for the first time, instead of getting in at 
the door, moimted, through habitude, to his accustomed place 
behind. Some ladies of quality, seeing a well-dressed woman 
covered with diamonds, but whom nobody knew, alight from a 
very handsome carriage, inquired who she was of the footman. 
He replied, with a sneer: "It is a lady who has recently tum- 
bled from a garret into this carriage." Mr. Law's domestics 
were said to become in like manner suddenly enriched by the 
crumbs that fell from his table. His coachman, having made 
his fortune, retired from his service. Mr. Law requested him 
to procure a coachman in his place. He appeared the next day 
with two, whom he pronounced equally good, and told Mr. 
Law: "Take which of them you choose, and I will take the 
other!" 

Nor were these novi homini treated with the distance and 
disdain they would formerly have experienced from the haughty 
aristocracy of France. The pride of the old noblesse had been 
stifled by the stronger instinct of avarice. They rather sought 
the intimacy and confidence of these lucky upstarts ; and it has 
been observed that a nobleman would gladly take his seat at 
the table of the fortunate lacquey of yesterday, in hopes of 
learning from him the secret of growing rich ! 

Law now went about with a countenance radiant with suc- 
cess and apparently dispensing wealth on every side. "He is 
admirably skilled in all that relates to finance," writes the 
Duchess of Orleans, the Eegent's mother, "and has put the 
affairs of the state in such good order that all the king's debts 
have been paid. He is so much run after that he has no repose 
night or day. A duchess even kissed his hand publicly. If a 
duchess can do this, what will other ladies do?" 

Wherever he went, his path, we are told, was beset by a 
sordid throng, who waited to see him pass, and sought to ob- 
tain the favor of a word, a nod, or smile, as if a mere glance 
from him would bestow fortune. When at home, his house 
was absolutely besieged by furious candidates for fortune. 



56 THE CBATON PAPERS. 

11 They forced the doors," says the Duke de St. Simon; "they 
scaled his windows from the garden; they made their way 
into his cabinet down the chimney !" 

The same venal court was paid by all classes to his family. 
The highest ladies of the court vied with each other in mean 
nesses to purchase the lucrative friendship of Mrs. Law and her 
daughter. They waited upon them with as much assiduity and 
adulation as if they had been princesses of the blood. The 
Regent one day expressed a desire that some duchess should 
accompany his daughter to Genoa. ' ' My Lord," said some one 
present, ' ' if you would have a choice from among the duchesses 
you need but send to Mrs. Law's ; you will find them all assem- 
bled there." 

The wealth of Law rapidly increased with the expansion o c 
the bubble. In the course of a few months he purchased four 
teen titled estates, paying for them in paper; and the public 
hailed these sudden and vast acquisitions of landed property as 
so many proofs of the soundness of his system. In one instance 
he met with a shrewd bargainer, who had not the general faith 
in his paper money. The President de Novion insisted on beinp: 
paid for an estate in hard coin. Law accordingly brought the 
ar_ount, four hundred thousand livres, in specie, saying, with 
a sarcastic smile, that he preferred paying in money as its 
weight rendered it a mere incumbrance. Aft it happened, the 
president could give no clear title to the land, and the money 
had to be refunded. He paid it back in paper, which Law 
dared not refuse, lest he should depreciate it in the market. 

The course of illusory credit went on triumphantly for eigh- 
teen months. Law had nearly fulfilled one of his promises, for 
the greater part of the public debt had been paid off ; but how 
paid? In bank shares, which had been trumped up several 
hundred per cent above their value, and which were to vanish 
like smoke in the hands of the holders, 

One of the most striking attributes of Law was the impertur- 
bable assurance and self-possession with which he replied to 
every objection, and fomid a solution for every problem. He 
had the dexterity of a juggler in evading difficulties ; and what 
was peculiar, made figures themselves, which are the very 
elements of exact demonstration, the means to dazzle and be- 
wilder. 

Toward the latter end of 1719 the Mississippi scheme had 
reached its highest point of glory. Half a million of strangers 
had crowded into Paris, in quest of fortune. The hotels ancl 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 57 

lodging-houses were overflowing ; lodgings were procured with 
excessive difficulty; granaries were turned into bed-rooms; 
provisions had risen enormously in price; splendid houses 
were multiplying on every side ; the streets were crowded with 
carriages ; above a thousand new equipages had been launched. 

On the eleventh of December, Law obtained another prohibi- 
tory decree, for the purpose of sweeping all the remaining 
specie in circulation into the bank. By this it was forbidden 
to make any payment in silver above ten livres, or in gold 
above three hundred. 

The repeated decrees of this nature, the object of which was 
to depreciate the value of gold, and increase the illusive credit 
of paper, began to awaken doubts of a system which required 
such bolstering. Capitalists gradually awoke from their be- 
wilderment. Sound and able financiers consulted together, and 
agreed to make common cause against this continual expansion 
of a paper system. The shares of the bank and of the company 
began to decline in value. Wary men took the alarm, and 
began to realize, a word now first brought into use, to express 
the conversion of ideal property into something real. 

The Prince of Conti, one of the most prominent and grasping 
of the Mississippi lords, was the first to give a blow to the 
credit of the bank. There was a mixture of ingratitude in his 
conduct that characterized the venal baseness of the times. 
He had received from time to time enormous sums from Law, 
as the price of his influence and patronage. His avarice had 
increased with every acquisition, until Law was compelled to 
refuse one of his exactions. In revenge the prince immediately 
sent such an amount of paper to the bank to be cashed, that it 
required four wagons to bring away the silver, and he had the 
meanness to loll out of the window of his hotel and jest and 
exult as it was trundled into his port cochere. 

This was the signal for other drains of like nature. The 
English and Dutch merchants, who had purchased a great 
amount of bank paper at low prices, cashed them at the bank, 
and carried the money out of the country. Other strangers 
did the like, thus draining the kingdom of its specie, and leav- 
ing paper in its place. 

The Regent, perceiving these symptoms of decay in the sys- 
tem, sought to restore it to public confidence, by conferring 
marks of confidence upon its author. He accordingly resolved 
to make Law Comptroller General of the Finances of France. 
There was a material obstacle in his way, Law was a Protes- 



58 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

tant, and the Eegent, unscrupulous as he was himself, did not 
dare publicly to outrage the severe edicts which Louis XIV., 
in his bigot days, had fulminated against all heretics. Law 
soon let him know that there would be no difficulty on that 
head. He was ready at any moment to abjure his religion in 
the way of business. For decency's sake, however, it was 
judged proper he should previously be convinced and con- 
verted. A ghostly instructor was soon found, ready to ac- 
complish his conversion in the shortest possible time. This 
was the Abbe Tencin, a profligate creature of the profligate 
Dubois, and like him working his way to ecclesiastical pro- 
motion and temporal wealth, by the basest means. 

Under the instructions of the Abbe Tencin, Law soon mas- 
tered the mysteries and dogmas of the Catholic doctrine ; and, 
after a brief course of ghostly training, declared himself 
thoroughly convinced and converted. To avoid the sneers 
and jests of the Parisian public, the ceremony of abjuration 
took place at Melun. Law made a pious present of one hun- 
dred thousand livres to the Church of St. Eoque, and the Abbe 
Tencin was rewarded for his edifying labors by sundry shares 
and bank bills ; which he shrewdly took care to convert into 
cash, having as little faith in the system as in the piety of his 
new convert. A more grave and moral community might 
have been outraged by this scandalous farce ; but the Parisians 
laughed at it with their usual levity, and contented themselves 
with making it the subject of a number of songs and epigrams. 

Law now being orthodox in his faith, took out letters of 
naturalization, and having thus surmounted the intervening 
obstacles, was elevated by the Regent to the post of Comp- 
troller General. So accustomed had the community become 
to all juggles and transmutations in this hero of finance, that 
no one seemed shocked or astonished at his sudden elevation. 
On the contrary, being now considered perfectly established in 
place and power, he became more than ever the object of venal 
adoration. Men of rank and dignity thronged his antecham- 
ber, waiting patiently their turn for an audience; and titled 
dames demeaned themselves to take the front seats of the 
carriages of his wife and daughter, as if they had been riding 
with princesses of the royal blood. Law's head grew giddy 
with his elevation, and he began to aspire after aristocratical 
distinction. There was to be a court ball, at which several of 
the young noblemen were to dance in a ballet with the youth- 
ful King. Law requested that his son might be admitted into 



TEE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. £9 

the ballet, and the Regent consented. The young scions of 
nobility, however, were indignant and scouted the "intruding 
upstart." Their more worldly parents, fearful of displeasing 
the modern Midas, reprimanded them in vain. The striplings 
had not yet imbibed the passion for gain, and still held to their 
high blood. The son of the banker received slights and annoy ^ 
ances on all sides, and the public applauded them for their 
spirit. A fit of illness came opportunely to relieve the youth 
from an honor which would have cost him a world of vexations 
and affronts. 

In February, 1720, shortly after Law's instalment in office, a 
decree came out uniting the bank to the India Company, by 
which last name the whole establishment was now known. 
The decree stated that as the bank was royal, the King was 
bound to make good the value of its bills ; that he committed 
to the company the government of the bank for fifty years, 
and sold to it fifty millions of stock belonging to him, for nine 
hundred millions; a simple advance of eighteen hundred per 
cent. The decree farther declared, in the King's name, that 
he would never draw on the bank, until the value of his drafts 
had first been lodged in it by his receivers general. 

The bank, it was said, had by this time issued notes to the 
amount of one thousand millions ; being more paper than all 
the banks of" Europe were able to circulate. To aid its credit, 
the receivers of the revenue were directed to take bank notes 
of the sub-receivers. All payments, also, of one hundred livres 
and upward were ordered to be made in bank notes. These 
compulsory measures for a short time gave a false credit to the 
bank, which proceeded to discount merchants' notes, to lend 
money on jewels, plate, and other valuables, as well as on 
mortgages. 

Still farther to force on the system an edict next appeared, 
forbidding any individual, or any corporate body, civil or 
religious, to hold in possession more than five hundred livres 
in current coin;' that is to say, about seven louis-d'ors; the 
ralue of the louis-d'or in paper being, at the time, seventy-two 
livres. All the gold and silver they might have above this 
pittance was to be brought to the royal bank, and exchanged 
either for shares or bills. 

As confiscation was the penalty of disobedience to this 
decree, and informers were assured a share of the forfeitures, 
a bounty was in a manner held out to domestic spies and 
traitors ; and the most odious scrutiny was awakened into the 



eo I TR& ORATOR PAPERS. 

pecuniary affairs of families and individuals. The very confi- 
dence between friends and relatives was impaired, and all the 
domestic ties and virtues of society were threatened, until a 
general sentiment of indignation broke forth, that compelled 
the Eegent to rescind the odious decree. Lord Stairs, the 
British ambassador, speaking of the system of espionage en- 
couraged by this edict, observed that it was impossible to 
doubt that Law was a thorough Catholic, since he had thus 
established the inquisition, after having already proved tran- 
substantiation, by changing specie into paper. 

Equal abuses had taken place under the colonizing project. 
In his thousand expedients to amass capital, Law had sold 
parcels of land in Mississippi, at the rate of three thousand livres 
for a league square. Many capitalists had purchased estates 
large enough to constitute almost a principality ; the only evil 
was, Law had sold a property which he could not deliver. 
The agents of police, who aided in recruiting the ranks of the 
colonists, had been guilty of scandalous impositions. Under 
pretence of taking up mendicants and vagabonds, they had 
scoured the streets at night, seizing upon honest mechanics, or 
their sons, and hurrying them to their crimping-houses, for 
the sole purpose of extorting money from them as a ransom. 
The populace was roused to indignation by these abuses. The 
officers of police were mobbed in the exercise of their odious 
functions, and several of them were killed ; which put an end 
to this flagrant abuse of power. 

In March, a most extraordinary decree of the council fixed 
the price of shares of the India Company at nine thousand 
livres each. All ecclesiastical communities and hospitals were 
now prohibited from investing money at interest, in anything 
but India stock. With all these props and stays, the system 
continued to totter. How could it be otherwise, under a des- 
potic government, that could alter the value of property at 
every moment? The very compulsory measures that were 
adopted to establish the credit of the bank hastened its fall; 
plainly showing there was a want of solid security. Law 
caused pamphlets to be published, setting forth, in eloquent 
language, the vast profits that must accrue to holders of 
the stock, and the impossibility of the King's ever doing it any 
harm. On the very back of these assertions came forth an 
edict of the King, dated the 226. of May, wherein, under pre- 
tence of having reduced the value of his coin, it was declared 
necessary to reduce the value of his bank notes one half, and 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. §\ 

Of the India shares from nine thousand to five thousand 
livres. 

This decree came like a clap of thunder upon shareholders. 
They found one half of the pretended value of the paper in 
their hands annihilated in an instant ; and what certainty had 
they with respect to the other half? The rich considered them- 
selves ruined ; those in humbler circumstances looked forward 
to abject beggary. 

The parliament seized the occasion to stand forth as the 
protector of the public, and refused to register the decree. It 
gained the credit of compelling the Eegent to retrace his step, 
though it is more probable he yielded to the universal burst of 
public astonishment and reprobation. On the 27th of May the 
edict was revoked, and bank-bills were restored to their pre- 
vious value. But the fatal blow had been struck ; the delusion 
was at an end. Government itself had lost all public confi- 
dence, equally with the bank it had engendered, and which its 
own arbitrary acts had brought into discredit. "All Paris," 
says the Regentis mother, in her letters, "has been mourning 
at the cursed decree which Law has persuaded my son to 
make. I have received anonymous letters, stating that I have 
nothing to fear on my own account, but that my son shall be 
pursued with fire and sword." 

The Regent now endeavored to avert the odium of Ins ruin- 
ous schemes from himself. He affected to have suddenly lost 
confidence in. Law, and on the 29th of May, discharged him 
from his employ as Comptroller General, and stationed a Swiss 
guard of sixteen men in his house. He even refused to see 
him, when, on the following day, he applied at the portal of 
the Palais Royal for admission: but having played off this 
farce before the public, he admitted him secretly the same 
night, by a private door, and continued '• as before to co-operate 
with him in his financial schemes. 

On the first of June, the Regent issued a decree, permitting 
persons to have as much money as they pleased in their pos- 
session. Few, however, were in a state to benefit by this 
permission. There was a run upon the bank, but a royal 
ordinance immediately suspended payment, until farther or- 
ders. To relieve the public mind, a city stock was created, of 
twenty-five millions, bearing an interest of two and a half per 
cent, for which bank notes were taken in exchange. The bank 
notes thus withdrawn from circulation, were publicly burned 
before the Hotel de Ville. The public, however, had lost con- 



62 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

fidence in everything and everybody, and suspected fraud and 
collusion in those who pretended to burn the bills. 

A general confusion now took place in the financial world. 
Families who had lived in opulence, found themselves sud- 
denly reduced to indigence. Schemers who had been revelling 
in the delusion of princely fortune, found their estates vanish- 
ing into thin air. Those who had any property remaining, 
sought to secure it against reverses. Cautious persons found 
there was no safety for property in a country where the coin 
was continually shifting in value, and where a despotism was 
exercised over public securities, and even over the private 
purses of individuals. They began to send their effects into 
other countries; when lo! on the 20th of June a royal edict 
commanded them to bring back their effects, under penalty of 
forfeiting twice their value; and forbade them, under like pen- 
alty, from investing their money in foreign stocks. This was 
soon followed by another decree, forbidding any one to retain 
precious stones in his possession, or to sell them to foreigners ; 
all must be deposited in the bank, in exchange for depreciating 
paper ! 

Execrations were now poured out on all sides, against Law, 
and menaces of vengeance. What a contrast, in a short time, 
to the venal incense that was offered up to him! "This per- 
son," writes the Eegent's mother, "who was formerly wor- 
shipped as a god, is now not sure of his life. It is astonishing 
how greatly terrified he is. He is as a dead man ; he is pale as 
a sheet, and it is said he can never get over it. My son is 
not dismayed, though he is threatened on all sides ; and is very 
much amused with Law's terrors." 

About the middle of July the last grand attempt was made 
by Law and the Eegent, to keep up the system, and provide 
for the immense emission of paper. A decree was fabricated, 
giving the India Company the entire monopoly of commerce, 
on condition that it would, in the course of a year, reimburse 
six hundred millions of livres of its bills, at the rate of fifty 
millions per month. 

On the 17th this decree was sent to parliament to be regis- 
tered. It at once raised a storm of opposition in that assembly ; 
and a vehement discussion took place. While that was going 
on, a disastrous scene was passing out of doors. 

The calamitous effects of the system had reached the hum- 
blest concerns of human life. Provisions had risen to an 
enormous price ; paper money was refused at all the shops ; the 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 63 

people had not wherewithal to buy bread. It had been found 
absolutely indispensable to relax a little from the suspension of 
specie payments, and to allow small sums to be scantily ex- 
changed for paper. The doors of the bank and the neighboring 
streets were immediately thronged with a famishing multitude, 
seeking cash for bank-notes of ten livres. So great was the 
press and struggle that several persons were stifled and 
crushed to death. The mob carried three of the bodies to the 
court-yard of the Palais Royal. Some cried for the Regent to 
come forth and behold the effect of his system; others de- 
manded the death of Law, the impostor, who had brought this 
misery and ruin upon the nation. 

The moment was critical, the popular fury was rising to a 
tempest, when Le Blanc, the Secretary of State, stepped forth. 
He had previously sent for the military, and now only sought 
to gain time. Singling out six or seven stout fellows, who 
seemed to be the ringleaders of the mob: "My good fellows," 
said he, calmly, "carry away these bodies and place them in 
some church, and then come back quickly to me for your pay." 
They immediately obeyed; a kind of funeral procession was 
formed; the arrival of troops dispersed those who lingered 
behind ; and Paris was probably saved from an insurrection. 

About ten o'clock in the morning, all being quiet, Law ven- 
tured to go in his carriage to the Palais Royal. He was 
saluted with cries and curses, as he passed along the streets ; 
and he reached the Palais Royal in a terrible fright. The 
Regent amused himself with his fears, but retained him with 
him, and sent off his carriage, which was assailed by the mob, 
pelted with stones, and the glasses shivered. The news of this 
outrage was communicated to parliament in the midst of a 
furious discussion of the decree for the commercial monopoly. 
The first president, who had been absent for a short time, re- 
entered, and communicated the tidings in a whimsical couplet : 

"Messieurs, Messieurs! bonne nouvelle! 
Le carrosse de Law est reduite en carrelle!" 

"Gentlemen. Gentleman! good news! 
The carriage of Law is shivered to atoms!" 

The members sprang up with joy; "And Law!" exclaimed 
they, "has he been torn to pieoes?" The president was igno- 
rant of the result of the tumult ; whereupon the debate was 
cut short, the decree rejected, and the house adjourned; the 
members hurrying to learn the particulars. Such was the 



64 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

levity with which public affairs were treated at that dissolute 
and disastrous period. 

On the following day there was an ordinance from the king, 
prohibiting all popular assemblages ; and troops were stationed 
at various points, and in all public places. The regiment of 
guards was ordered to hold itself in readiness ; and the musque- 
teers to be at their hotels, with their horses ready saddled. A 
number of small offices were opened, where people might cash 
small notes, though with great delay and difficulty. An edict 
was also issued declaring that whoever should refuse to take 
bank-notes in the course of trade should forfeit double the 
amount ! 

The continued and vehement opposition of parliament to the 
whole delusive system of finance, had been a constant source 
of annoyance to the Regent ; but this obstinate rejection of his 
last grand expedient of a commercial monopoly, was not to be 
tolerated. He determined to punish that intractable body. 
The Abbe Dubois and Law suggested a simple mode ; it was to 
suppress the parliament altogether, being, as they observed, so 
far from useful, that it was a constant impediment to the 
march of public affairs. The Regent was half inclined to listen 
to their advice ; but upon calmer consideration, and the advice 
of friends, he adopted a more moderate course. On the 20th 
of July, early in the morning, all the doors of the parliament- 
house were taken possession of by troops. ' Others were sent to 
surround the house of the first president, and others to the 
houses of the various members ; who were all at first in great 
alarm, until an order from the king was put into their hands, 
to render themselves at Pontoise, in the course of two days, to 
which place the parliament was thus suddenly and arbitrarily 
transferred. 

This despotic act, says Voltaire, would at any other time 
have caused an insurrection; but one half of the Parisians 
were occupied by their ruin, and the other half by their fancied 
riches, which were soon to vanish. The president and mem- 
bers of parliament acquiesce^, in the mandate without a mur- 
mur; they even went as if on a party of pleasure, and made 
every preparation to lead a joyous life in their exile. The 
musqueteers, who held possession of the vacated parliament- 
house, a gay corps of fashionable young fellows, amused them- 
selves with making songs and pasquinades, at the expense of 
the exiled legislators ; and at length, to pass away time, formed 
themselves into a mock parliament; elected their presidents. 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 65 

ings, ministers, and advocates ; took their seats in due form, 
arraigned a cat at their bar, in place of the Sieur Law, and after 
giving it a "fair trial," condemned it to be hanged. In this 
manner public affairs and public institutions were lightly 
turned to jest. 

As to the exiled parliament, it lived gayly and luxuriously at 
Pontoise, at the public expense ; for the Regent had furnished 
funds, as usual, with a lavish hand. The first president had 
the mansion of the Duke de Bouillon put at his disposal, ready 
furnished, with a vast and delightful garden on the borders of 
a river. There he kept open house to all the members of par- 
liament. Several tables were spread every day, all furnished 
luxuriously and splendidly; the most exquisite wines and 
liqueurs, the choicest fruits and refreshments, of all kinds, 
abounded. A number of small chariots for one and two horses 
were always at hand, for such ladies and old gentlemen as 
wished to take an airing after dinner, and card and billiard 
tables for such as chose to amuse themselves in that way until 
supper. The sister and the daughter of the first president did 
the honors of the house, and he himself presided there with an 
air of great ease, hospitality, and magnificence. It became a 
party of pleasure to drive from Paris to Pontoise, which was 
six leagues distant, and partake of the amusements and festivi- 
ties of the place. Business was openly slighted ; nothing was 
thought of but amusement. The Regent and his government 
were laughed at, and made the subjects of continual pleasant- 
ries ; while the enormous expenses incurred by this idle and 
lavish course of life, more than doubled the liberal sums pro- 
vided. This was the way in which the parliament resented 
their exile. 

During all this time, the system was getting more and more 
involved. The stock exchange had some time previously been 
removed to the Place Vendome ; but the tumult and noise be- 
coming intolerable to the residents of that polite quarter, and 
especially to the cjiancellor, whose hotel was there, the Prince 
and Princess Carignan, both deep gamblers in Mississippi 
stock, offered the extensive garden of the Hotel de Soissons 
as a rallying-place for the worshippers of Mammon. The offer 
was accepted. A number of barracks were immediately 
erected in the garden, as offices for the stock-brokers, and an 
order was obtained from the Regent, under pretext of police 
regulations, that no bargain should be valid unless concluded 
in these barracks. The rent of them immediately mounted to 



6Q THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

a hundred livres a month for each, and the whole yielded these 
noble proprietors an ignoble revenue of half a million of livres. 

The mania for gain, however, was now at an end. A uni- 
versal panic succeeded. " Sauve qui peut!" was the watch- 
word. Every one was anxious to exchange falling paper for 
something of intrinsic and permanent value. Since money 
was not to be had, jewels, precious stones, plate, porcelain, 
trinkets of gold and silver, all commanded any price in paper.. 
Land was bought at fifty years' purchase, and he esteemed 
himself happy who could get it even at this price. Monopolies 
now became the rage among the noble holders of paper. The 
Duke de la Force bought up nearly all the tallow, grease, and 
soap ; others the coffee and spices ; others hay and oats. For- 
eign exchanges were almost impracticable. The debts of 
Dutch and English merchants were paid in this fictitious 
money, all the coin of the realm having disappeared. All the 
relations of debtor and creditor were confounded. With one 
thousand crowns one might pay a debt of eighteen thousand 
livres ! 

The Regent's mother, who once exulted in the affluence of 
bank paper, now wrote in a very different tone: "I have 
often wished," said she in her letters, "that these bank 
notes were in the depts of the infernal regions. They have 
given my son more trouble than relief.- Nobody in France 
has a penny. * * * My son was once popular, but since the ar- 
rival of this cursed Law, he is hated more and more. Not a 
week passes, without my receiving letters filled with fright- 
ful threats, and speaking of him as a tyrant. I have just 
received one threatening him with poison. When I showed 
it to him, he did nothing but laugh." 

In the meantime, Law was dismayed by the increasing 
troubles, and terrified at the tempest he had raised. He was 
not a man of real courage ; and fearing for his personal 
safety, from popular tumult, or the despair of ruined indi- 
viduals, he again took refuge in the palac% of the Regent. 
The latter, as usual, amused himself with his terrors, and 
turned every new disaster into a jest; but he too began to 
think of his own security. 

In pursuing the schemes of Law, he had no doubt cal- 
culated to carry through his term of government with ease 
and splendor; and to enrich himself, his connexions, and his 
favorites; and had hoped that the catastrophe of the system 
would not take place until after the expiration of the regency. 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. ffl 

He now saw his mistake; that it was impossible much 
longer to prevent an explosion; and he determined at once 
to get Law out of the way, and than to charge him with 
the whole tissue of delusions of this paper alchemy. He ac- 
cordingly took occasion of the recall of parliament in De- 
cember, 1720, to suggest to Law the policy of his avoiding 
an encounter with that hostile and exasperated body. Law 
needed no urging to the measure. His only desire was to 
escape from Paris and its tempestuous populace. Two days be- 
fore the return of parliament he took his sudden and secret 
departure. He travelled in a chaise bearing the arms of the 
Regent, and was escorted by a kind of safeguard of servants, 
in the duke's livery. His first place of refuge was an estate 
of the Regent's, about six leagues from Paris, from whence he 
pushed forward to Bruxelles. 

As soon as Law was fairly out of the way, the Duke of 
Orleans summoned a council of the regency, and informed 
them that they were assembled to deliberate on the state of 
the finances, and the affairs of the India Company. Accord- 
ingly La Houssaye, Comptroller General, rendered a perfectly 
clear statement, by which it appeared that there were bank 
bills in circulation to the amount of two milliards, seven 
hundred millions of livres, without any evidence that this 
enormous sum had been emitted in virtue of any ordinance 
from the general assembly of the India Company, which alone 
had the right to authorize such emissions. 

The council was astonished at this disclosure, and looked 
to the Regent for explanation. Pushed to the extreme, the 
Regent avowed that Law had emitted bills to the amount of 
twelve hundred millions beyond what had been fixed by or- 
dinances, and in contradiction to express prohibitions; that 
the thing being done, he, the Regent, had legalized or rather 
covered the transaction, by decrees ordering such emissions;, 
which decrees he had antedated. 

A stormy scene ensued between the Regent and the Duke 
de Bourbon, little to the credit of either, both having been 
deeply implicated in the cabalistic operations of the system. 
In fact, the several members of the council had been among 
the most venal ' ' beneficiaries" of the scheme, and had inter- 
ests at stake which they were anxious to secure. From all 
the circumstances of the case, I am inclined to think that' 
others were more to blame than Law, for the disastrous effects 
of his financial projects. His bank, had it been^confined to 



68 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

its original limits, and left to the control of its own inter- 
nal regulations, might have gone on prosperously, and been 
of great benefit to the nation. It was an institution fitted 
for a free country; but unfortunately it was subjected to 
the control of a despotic government, that could, at its pleas- 
ure, alter the value of the specie within its vaults, and com- 
pel the most extravagant expansions of its paper circulation. 
The vital principle of a bank is security in the regularity of 
its operations, and the immediate convertibility of its paper 
into coin; and what confidence could be reposed in an insti- 
tution or its paper promises, when the sovereign could at 
any moment centuple those promises in the market, and seize 
upon all the money in the bank? The compulsory measures 
used, likewise, to force bank notes into currency, against the 
judgment of the public, was fatal to the system; for credit 
must be free and uncontrolled as the common air. The Re- 
gent was the evil spirit of the system, that forced Law on to 
an expansion of his paper curency far beyond what he had 
ever dreamed of. He it was that in a manner compelled the 
unlucky projector to devise all kinds of collateral companies 
and monopolies, by which to raise funds to meet the con- 
stantly and enormously increasing emissions of shares and 
notes. Law was but like a poor conjuror in the hands of a 
potent spirit that he has evoked, and that obliges him to go 
on, desperately and ruinously, with his conjurations. He only 
thought at the outset to raise the wind, but the Regent com- 
pelled him to raise the whirlwind. 

The investigation of the affairs of the Company by the 
council, resulted in nothing beneficial to the public. The 
princes and nobles who had enriched themselves by all kinds 
of juggles and extortions, escaped unpunished, and retained 
the greater part of their spoils. Many of the "suddenly 
rich," who had risen from obscurity to a giddy height of 
imaginary prosperity, and had indulged in all kinds of vul- 
gar and ridiculous excesses, awoke as out of a dream, in their 
original poverty, now made more galling and humiliating by 
their transient elevation. 

The weight of the evil, however, fell on more valuable classes 
of society; honest tradesmen and artisans, who had been 
seduced away from the safe pursuits of industry, to the 
specious chances of speculation. Thousands of meritorious 
families also, once opulent, had been reduced to indigence, 
by a too great confidence in government. There was a gen- 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 69 

eral derangement in the finances, that long exerted a bane- 
ful influence over the national prosperity; but the most dis- 
astrous effects of the system were upon the morals and man- 
ners of the nation. The faith of engagements, the sanctity 
of promises in affairs of business, were at an end. Every 
expedient to grasp present profit, or to evade present difficulty, 
was tolerated. While such deplorable laxity of principle was 
generated in the busy classes, the chivalry of France had 
soiled their pennons ; and honor and glory, so long the idols of 
the Gallic nobility, had been tumbled to the earth, and tram- 
pled in the dirt of the stock-market. 

As to Law, the originator of the system, he appears even- 
tually to have profited but little by his schemes. " He was a 
quack," says Voltaire, "to whom the state was given to be 
cured, but who poisoned it with his drugs, and who poisoned 
himself." The effects which he left behind in France, were 
sold at a low price, and the proceeds dissipated. His landed 
estates were confiscated. He carried away with him barely 
enough to maintain himself , his wife, and daughter, with de- 
cency. The chief relique of his immense fortune was a great 
diamond, which he was often obliged to pawn. He was in 
England in 1721, and was presented to George the First. He 
returned shortly afterwards to the continent; shifting about 
from place to place, and died in Venice, in 1729. His*wife and 
daughter, accustomed to live with the prodigality of princesses, 
could not conform to their altered fortunes, but dissipated the 
scanty means left to them, and sank into abject poverty. "I 
saw his wife," says Voltaire, "at Bruxelles, as much humili- 
ated as she had been haughty and triumphant in Paris." An 
elder brother of Law remained in France, and was protected 
by the Duchess of Bourbon. His descendants have acquitted 
themselves honorably, in various public employments; and 
one of them is the Marquis Lauriston, some time Lieutenant 
General and Peer of France. 



70 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

DON JUAN. 

A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

" I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, and have been wondered at 
by others; but I must only wonder at myself, for if they be not mad, I'me come to 
my own buriall."— Shirley's " Witty Fairie One." 

Everybody has heard of the fate of Don Juan, the famous 
libertine of Seville, who for his sins against the fair sex and 
other minor peccadilloes was hurried away to the infernal 
regions. His story has been illustrated in play, in pantomime, 
and farce, on every stage in Christendom ; until at length it has 
been rendered the theme of the opera of operas, and embalmed 
to endless duration in the glorious music of Mozart. I well 
recollect the effect of this story upon my feelings in my boyish 
days, though represented in grotesque pantomime; the awe 
with which I contemplated the monumental statue on horse- 
back of the murdered commander, gleaming by pale moonlight 
in the convent cemetery ; how my heart quaked as he bowed 
his marble head, and accepted the impious invitation of Don 
Juan : how each foot-fall of the statue smote upon my heart, 
as I heard it approach, step by step, through the echoing cor- 
ridor, and beheld it enter, and advance, a' moving figure of 
stone, to the suppertable! But then the convivial scene in 
the charnel-house, where Don Juan returned the visit of the 
statue; was offered a banquet of skulls and bones, and on 
refusing to partake, was hurled into a yawning gulf, under a 
tremendous shower of fire ! These were accumulated horrors 
enough to shake the nerves of the most pantomime-loving 
school-boy. Many have supposed the story of Don Juan a 
mere fable. I myself thought so once; but " seeing is believ- 
ing." I have since beheld the very scene where it took place, 
and now to indulge any doubt on the subject would be pre- 
posterous. 

I was one night perambulating the streets of Seville, in com- 
pany with a Spanish friend, a curious investigator of the popu- 
lar traditions and other good-for-nothing lore of the city, and 
who was kind enough to imagine he had met, in me, with a 
congenial spirit. In the course of our rambles we were passing 
by a heavy, dark gateway, opening into the court-yard of a 
convent, when he laid his hand upon my arm: "Stop!" said 
he, ' ' this is the convent of San Francisco ; there is a story con- 



DON JUAN. 71 

nected with it, which I am sure must be known to you. You 
cannot but have heard of Don Juan and the marble statue. " 

" Undoubtedly," replied I, "it has been familiar to me from 
childhood." 

"Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this very convent 
that the events took place." 

" Why, you do not mean to say that the story is founded on 
fact?" 

" Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of the case are said 
to have occurred during the reign of Alfonso XI. Don Juan 
was of the noble family of Tenorio, one of the most illustrious 
houses of Andalusia. His father, Don Diego Tenorio, was a 
favorite of the king, and his family ranked among the deinte- 
cuatros, or magistrates, of the city. Presuming on his high de- 
scent and powerful connections, Don Juan set no bounds to his 
excesses : no female, high or low, was sacred from his pursuit : 
and he soon became the scandal of Seville. One of his most 
daring outrages was, to penetrate by night into the palace of 
Don Gonzalo de Ulioa, commander of the order«of Calatrava, 
and attempt to carry off his daughter. The household was 
alarmed ; a scuffle in the dark took place ; Don Juan escaped, 
but the unfortunate commander was found weltering in his 
blood, and expired without being able to name his murderer. 
Suspicions attached to Don Juan ; he did not stop to meet the 
investigations of justice, and the vengeance of the powerful 
family of Ulloa, but fled from Seville, and took refuge with his 
uncle, Don Pedro Tenorio, at that time ambassador at the court 
of Naples. Here he remained until the agitation occasioned by 
the murder of Don Gonzalo had time to subside ; and the scan- 
dal which the affair might cause to both the families of Ulloa 
and Tenorio had induced them to hush it up. Don Juan, how- 
ever, continued his libertine career at Naples, until at length 
his excesses forfeited the protection of his uncle, the ambassa- 
dor, and obliged him again to flee. He had made his way back 
to Seville, trusting that his past misdeeds were forgotten, or 
rather trusting to his dare-devil spirit and the power of his 
family, to carry him through all difficulties. 

"It was shortly after his return, and while in the height of 
his arrogance, that on visiting this very convent of Francisco, 
he beheld on a monument the equestrian statue of the mur- 
dered commander, who had been buried within the walls of 
this sacred edifice, where the family of Ulloa had a chapel. It 
was on this occasion that Don Juan, in a moment of impious 



72 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

levity, invited the statue to the banquet, the awful catastrophe 
of which has given such celebrity to his story." 

" And pray how much of this story," said I, "is believed in 
Seville?" 

" The whole of it by the populace; with whom it has been a 
favorite tradition since time immemorial, and who crowd to 
the theatres to see it represented in dramas written long since 
by Tyrso de Molina, and another of our popular writers. Many 
in our higher ranks also, accustomed from childhood to this 
story, would feel somewhat indignant at hearing it treated with 
contempt. An attempt has been made to explain the whole, 
by asserting that, to put an end to the extravagancies of Don 
Juan, and to pacify the family of Ulloa, without exposing the 
delinquent to the degrading penalties of justice, he was decoyed 
into this convent under a false pretext, and either plunged into 
a perpetual dungeon, or privately hurried out of existence: 
while the story of the statue was circulated by the monks, to 
account for his sudden disappearance. The populace, how- 
ever, are not to be cajoled out of a ghost story by any of 
these plausible explanations; and the marble statue still 
strides the stage, and Don Juan is still plunged into the in- 
fernal regions, as an awful warning to all rake-helly young- 
sters, in like case offending." 

While my companion was relating these anecdotes, we had 
entered the gate-way, traversed the exterior court-yard of the 
convent, and made our way into a great interior court ; partly 
surrounded by cloisters and dormitories, partly by chapels, 
and having a large fountain in the centre. The pile had evi- 
dently once been extensive and magnificent ; but it was for the 
greater part in ruins. By the light of the stars, and of twink- 
ling lamps placed here and there in the chapels and corridors, 
I could see that many of the columns and arches were broken ; 
the walls were rent and riven ; while burned beams and rafters 
showed the destructive effects of fire. The whole place had a 
desolate air ; the night breeze rustled through grass and weeds 
flaunting out of the crevices of the walls, or from the shat- 
tered columns ; the bat flitted about the vaulted passages, and 
the owl hooted from the ruined belfry. Never was any scene 
more completely fitted for a ghost story. 

While I was indulging in picturings of the fancy, proper to 
such a place, the deep chaunt of the monks from the convent 
church came swelling upon the ear. " It is the vesper service, " 
said my companion; "follow me." 



DON JUAN. 73 

Leading the way across the court of the cloisters, and 
through one or two ruined passages, he reached the distant 
portal of the church, and pushing open a wicket^ cut in the 
folding-doors, we found ourselves in the deep arched vestibule 
of the sacred edifice. To our left was the choir, forming one 
end of the church, and having a low vaulted ceiling, which 
gave it the look of a cavern. About this were ranged the 
monks, seated on stools, and chaunting from immense books 
placed on music-stands, and having the notes scored in such 
gigantic characters as to be legible from every part of the choir. 
A few lights on these music-stands dimly illumined the choir, 
gleamed on the shaven heads of the monks, and threw their 
shadows on the walls. They were gross, blue-bearded, bullet- 
headed men, with bass voices, of deep metallic tone, that re- 
verberated out of the cavernous choir. 

To our right extended the great body of the church. It was 
spacious and lofty ; some of the side chapels had gilded grates, 
and were decorated with images and paintings, representing 
the sufferings of our Saviour. Aloft was a great painting by 
Murillo, but too much in the dark to be distinguished. The 
gloom of the whole church was but faintly relieved by the re- 
flected light from the choir, and the glimmering here and there 
of a votive lamp before the shrine of a saint. 

As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, it was struck 
with the dimly seen figure of a man on horseback, near a dis- 
tant altar. I touched my companion, and pointed to it: " The 
spectre statue !" said I. 

" No, "replied he; "it is the statue of the blessed St. lago; 
the statue of the commander was in the cemetery of the con- 
vent, and was destroyed at the time of the conflagration. 
But," added he, u as I see you take a proper interest in these 
kind of stories, come with me to the other emd of the church, • 
where our whisperings will not disturb these holy fathers at . 
their devotions, and I will tell you another story, that has been 
current for some generations in our city, by which you will 
find that Don Juan is not the only libertine that has been the 
object of supernatural castigation in Seville." 

I accordingly followed him with noiseless tread to the farther 
part of the church, where we took our seats on the steps of an 
altar, opposite to the suspicious-looking figure on horseback, 
and there, in a low, mysterious voice, he related to me the fol- 
lowing narrative : 

"There was once in Seville a gay young fellow, Don Manuel 



74 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

de Manara by name, who having come to a great estate by the 
death of his father, gave the reins to his passions, and plunged 
into all kinds of dissipation. Like Don Juan, whom he seemed 
to have tafcen for a model, he became famous for his enter- 
prises among the fair sex, and was the cause of doors being 
barred and windows grated with more than usual strictness. 
All in vain. No balcony was too high for him to scale ; no bolt 
nor bar was proof against his efforts ; and his very name was a 
word of terror to all the jealous husbands and cautious fathers 
of Seville. His exploits extended to country as well as city ; 
and in the village dependent on his castle, scarce a rural beauty 
was safe from his arts and enterprises. 

"As he was one day ranging the streets of Seville, with sev- 
eral of his dissolute companions, he beheld a procession about 
to enter the gate of a convent. In the centre was a young fe- 
male arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was a novice, who, hav- 
ing accomplished her year of probation, was about to take the 
black veil, and consecrate herself to heaven. The companions 
of Don Manuel drew back, out of respect to the sacred pageant ; 
but he pressed forward, with his usual impetuosity, to gain a 
near view of the novice. He almost jostled her, in passing 
through th$ portal of the church, when, on her turning round, 
he beheld fche countenance of a beautiful village girl, who had 
been the object of his ardent pursuit, but who had been spirited 
secretly out of his reach by her relatives. She recognized him 
at the same moment, and fainted ; but was borne within the 
grate of the chapel. It was supposed the agitation of the cere- 
mony and the heat of the throng had overcome her. After 
some time, the curtain which hung within the grate was drawn 
up : there stood the novice, pale and trembling, surrounded by 
the abbess and the nuns. The ceremony proceeded ; the crown 
of flowers was taken from her head ; she was shorn of her silken 
tresses, received the black veil, and went passively through 
the remainder of the ceremony. 

"Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was roused to 
fury at the sight of this sacrifice. His passion, which 
had almost faded away in the absence of the object, now 
glowed with tenfold ardor, being inflamed by the difficulties 
placed in his way, and piqued by the measures which had been 
taken to defeat him. Never had the object of his pursuit ap- 
peared so lovely and desirable as when within the grate of the 
convent ; and he swore to have her, in defiance of heaven and 
earth. By dint of bribing a female servant of the convent he 



DON JUAN. 75 

contrived to convey letters to her, pleading his passion in the 
most eloquent and seductive terms. How successful they were 
is only matter of conjecture ; certain it is, he undertook one 
night to scale the garden wall of the convent, either to carry 
off the nun, or gain admission to her cell. Just as he was 
mounting the wall he was suddenly plucked back, and a 
stranger, muffled in a cloak, stood before him. 

' ' ' Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he : ' is it not enough to have 
violated all human ties? Wouldst thou steal a bride from 
heaven ! ' 

" The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn on the instant, 
and furious at this interruption, he passed it through the body 
of the stranger, who fell dead at his feet. Hearing approach- 
ing footsteps, he fled the fatal spot, and- mounting his horse, 
which was at hand, retreated to his estate in the coimtry, at no 
great distance from Seville. Here he remained throughout the 
next day, full of horror and remorse ; dreading lest he should 
be known as the murderer of the deceased, and fearing each 
moment the arrival of the officers of justice. 

" The day passed, however, without molestation; and, as the 
evening approached, unable any longer to endure this state of 
uncertainty and apprehension, he ventured back to Seville. 
Irresistibly his footsteps took the direction of the convent ; but 
he paused and hovered at a distance from the scene of blood. 
Several persons were gathered round the place, one of whom 
was busy nailing something against the convent wall. After a 
while they dispersed, and one passed near to Don Manuel. The 
latter addressed him, with hesitating voice. 

" ' Sen or,' said he, ' may I ask the reason of yonder throng? ' 

" ' A cavalier,' replied the other, ' has been murdered.' 

" ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; ' and can you tell me his 
name? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara,' replied the stranger, and passed 
on. 

"Don Manuel was startled at tins mention of his own name; 
especially when applied to the murdered man. He ventured, 
when it was entirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. A 
small cross had been nailed against the wall, as is customary in 
Spain, to mark the place where a murder has been committed ; 
and just below it he read, by the twinkling light of a lamp: 
1 Here was murdered Don Manuel de Manara. Pray to God for 
his soul ! ' 

"Still more confounded and perplexed by this inscription, he 



76 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

wandered about the streets until the night was far advanced, and 
all was still and lonely. As lie entered the principal square, 
the light of torches suddenly broke on him, and he beheld a 
grand funeral procession moving across it. There was a great 
train of priests, and many persons of dignified appearance, in 
ancient Spanish dresses, attending as mourners, none of whom 
he knew. Accosting a servant who followed in the train, he 
demanded the name of the defunct. 

" 'Don Manuel de Manara,' was the reply; and it went cold 
to his heart. He looked, and indeed beheld the armorial bear- 
ings of his family emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. 
Yet not one of his family was to be seen among the mourners. 
The mystery was more and more incomprehensible. 

" He followed the procession as it moved on to the cathedral. 
The bier was deposited before the high altar ; the funeral ser- 
vice was commenced, and the grand organ began to peal 
through the vaulted aisles. 

" Again the youth ventured to question this awful pageant. 
1 Father,' said he, with trembling voice, to one of the priests, 
1 who is this you are about to inter? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara! ' replied the priest. 

" 'Father, 'cried Don Manuel, impatiently, ' you are deceived. 
This is some imposture. Know that Don Manuel de Manara is 
alive and well, and now stands before you. I am Don Manuel 
de Manara ! ' 

" 'Avaunt, rash youth!' cried the priest; 'know that Don 
Manuel de Manara is dead !— is dead !— is dead !— and we are all 
souls from purgatory, his deceased relatives and ancestors, and 
others that have been aided by masses of his family, who are 
permitted to come here and pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 

' ' Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance upon the assem- 
blage, in antiquated Spanish garbs, and recognized in their pale 
and ghastly countenances the portraits of many an ancestor 
that hung in the family picture-gallery. He now lost all self- 
command, rushed up to the bier, and beheld the counterpart 
of himself, but in the fixed and livid lineaments of death. 
Just at that moment the whole choir burst forth with a ' Re- 
quiescat in pace,' that shook the vaults of the cathedral. Don 
Manuel sank senseless on the pavement. He was found there 
early the next morning by the sacristan, and conveyed to his 
home. "When sufficiently recovered, he sent for a friar, and 
made a full confession of all that had happened. 

" ' My son,' said the friar, ' all this is a miracle and a mys- 



UOJV JUAN. 77 

tery, intended for thy conversion and salvation. The corpse 
thou hast seen was a token that thou hadst died to sin and the 
world; take warning by it, and henceforth live to righteous- 
ness and heaven ! ' 

"Don Manuel did take warning by it. Guided by the coun- 
sels of the worthy friar, he disposed of all his temporal affairs; 
dedicated the greater part of Ins wealth to pious uses, espe- 
cially to the performance of masses for souls in purgatory; 
and finally, entering a convent, became one of the most zealous 
and exemplary monks in Seville." 



While my companion was relating this story, my eyes wan- 
dered, from time to time, about the dusky church. Methought 
the burly countenances of the monks in their distant choir 
assumed a pallid, ghastly hue, and their deep metallic voices 
had a sepulchral sound. By the time the story was ended, 
they had ended their chant; and, extinguishing their lights^ 
glided one by one, like shadows, through a small door in the 
side of #ie choir. A deeper gloom prevailed over the church ; 
the figure opposite me on horseback grew more and more 
spectral ; and I almost expected to see it bow its head. 

"It is time to be off," said my companion, "unless we 
intend to sup with the statue." 

" I have no relish for such fare or such company;" replied I; 
and, following my companion, we groped our way through the 
mouldering cloisters. As we passed by the ruined cemetery, 
keeping up a casual conversation by way of. dispelling the 
loneliness of the scene, I called to mind the words of the poet: 

The tombs 

And monumental caves of death look cold, 
And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart! 
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; 
Nay, speak— and let me hear thy voice; 
My own affrights me with its echoes. 

There wanted nothing but the marble statue of the comman ler 
striding along the echoing cloisters to complete the haunted 
scene. 

Since that time I never fail to attend the theatre whenever 
the story of Don Juan is represented, whether in pantomime 
or opera. In the sepulchral scene, I feel myself quite at home ; 
and when the statue makes his appearance, I greet him as an 
old acquaintance. When the audience applaud, I look round 



78 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

upon them with a degree of compassion. u Poor souls !" I say 
to myself, "they think they are pleased; they think they 
enjoy this piece, and yet they consider the whole as a fiction ! 
How much more would they enjoy it, if like me they knew it 
to be true— and had seen the very place!" 



BEOEK: I 

OR THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

It has long been a matter of discussion and controversy 
among the pious and the learned, as to the situation of the 
terrestrial paradise whence our first parents were exiled. 
This question has been put to rest by certain of the faithful in 
Holland, who have decided in favor of the village of Broek, 
about six miles from Amsterdam. It may not, they observe, 
correspond in all respects to the description of the Garden of 
Eden, handed down from days of yore, but it comes nearer to 
their ideas of a perfect paradise than any other place on earth. 

This eulogium induced me to make some inquiries as to this 
favored spot in the course of a sojourn at the city of Amster- 
dam, and the information I procured fully justified the enthu- 
siastic praises I had heard. The village of Broek is situated in 
"Waterland, in the midst of the greenest and richest pastures of 
Holland, I may say, of Europe. These pastures are the source 
of its wealth, for it is famous for its dairies, and for those oval 
cheeses which regale and perfume the Trhole civilized world. 
The population consists of about six hundred persons, compris- 
ing several families which have inhabited the place since time 
immemorial, and have waxed rich on the products of their 
meadows. They keep all their wealth among themselves, 
intermarrying, and keeping all strangers at a wary distance. 
They are a " hard money" people, and remarkable for turning 
the penny the right way. It is said to have been an old rule, 
established by one of the primitive financiers and legislators of 
Broek, that no one should leave the village with more than six 
guilders in his pocket, or return with less than ten; a shrewd 
regulation, well worthy the attention of modern political 
economists, who are so anxious to fix the balance of trade. 

What, however, renders Broek so perfect an elysium in the 
eyes of all true Hollanders, is the matchless height to which 



BROEK. 7§ 

the spirit of cleanliness is carried there. It amounts almost to 
a religion among the inhabitants, who pass the greater part of 
their time rubbing and scrubbing, and painting and varnishing ; 
each housewife vies with her neighbor in her devotion to the 
scrubbing-brush, as zealous Catholics do in their devotion to 
the cross ; and it is said a notable housewife of the place in 
days of yore is held in pious remembrance, and almost canon- 
ized as a saint, for having died of pure exhaustion and chagrin 
in an ineffectual attempt to scour a black man white. 

These particulars awakened my ardent curiosity to see a 
place which I pictured to myself the very fountain-head of 
certain hereditary habits and customs prevalent among the 
descendants of the original Dutch settlers of my native State. 
I accordingly lost no time in performing a pilgrimage to Broek. 

Before I reached the place I beheld symptoms of the tranquil 
character of its inhabitants. A little clump-built boat was in 
full sail along the lazy bosom of a canal, but its sail consisted 
of the blades of two paddles stood on end, while the navigator 
sat steering with a third paddle in the stern, crouched down 
like a toad, with a slouched hat drawn over his eyes. I 
presumed him to be some nautical lover on the way to his 
mistress. After proceeding a little farther I came in sight of 
the harbor or port of destination of this drowsy navigator. 
This was the Broeken-Meer, an artificial basin, or sheet of 
olive-green water, tranquil as a mill-pond. On this the village 
of Broek is situated, and the borders are laboriously decorated 
with flower-beds, box-trees clipped into all kinds of ingenious 
shapes and fancies, and little "lust" houses or pavilions. 

I alighted outside of the village, for no horse nor vehicle is 
permitted to enter its precincts, lest it should cause defilement 
of the well-scoured pavements. Shaking the dust off my feet, 
therefore, I prepared to enter, with due reverence and circum- 
spection, this sanctum sanctorum, of Dutch cleanliness. I 
entered by a narrow street, paved with yellow bricks, laid 
edgewise, so clean that one might eat from them. Indeed, 
they were actually worn deep, not by the tread of feet, but by 
the friction of the scrubbing-brush. 

The houses were built of wood, and all appeared to have been 
freshly painted, of green, yellow, and other bright colors. 
They were separated from each other by gardens and orchards, 
and stood at some little distance from the street, with wide 
areas or courtyards, paved in mosaic, with variegated stones', 
polished by frequent rubbing. The areas were divided from 



80 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

the street by curiously-wrought railings, or balustrades, of iron, 
surmounted with brass and copper balls, scoured into dazzling 
effulgence. The very trunks of the trees in front of the 
houses were by the same process made to look as if they had 
been varnished. The porches, doors, and window-frames of 
the houses were of exotic woods, curiously carved, and polished 
like costly furniture. The front doors are never opened, 
excepting on christenings, marriages, or funerals ; on all ordi- 
nary occasions, visitors enter by the back door. In former 
times, persons when admitted had to put on slippers, but this 
oriental ceremony is no longer insisted upon. 

A poor devil Frenchman who attended upon me as cicerone, 
boasted with some degree of exultation, of a triumph of his 
countrymen over the stern regulations of the place. During 
the time that Holland was overrun by the armies of the French 
Republic, a French general, surrounded by his whole etat 
major, who had come from Amsterdam to view the wonders of 
Broek, applied for admission at one of these taboo'd portals. 
The reply was, that the owner never received any one who did 
not come introduced by some friend. "Very well," said the 
general, "take my compliments to your master, and tell him I 
will return here to-morrow with a company of soldiers, 'pour 
parler raison avec mon ami HollandaisS " Terrified at the 
idea of having a company of soldiers billeted upon him, the 
owner threw open his house, entertained the general and his 
retinue with unwonted hospitality ; though it is said it cost the 
family a month's scrubbing and scouring, to restore all things 
to exact order, after this military invasion. My vagabond in- 
formant seemed to consider this one of the greatest victories of 
the republic. 

I walked about the place in mute wonder and admiration. 
A dead stillness prevailed around, like that in the deserted 
streets of Pompeii. No sign of life was to be seen, excepting 
now and then a hand, and a long pipe, and an occasional puff 
of smoke, out of the window of some "lust-haus" overhanging 
a miniature canal; and on approaching a little nearer, the 
periphery in profile of some robustious burgher. 

Among the grand houses pointed out to me wore those of 
Claes Bakker, and Cornelius Bakker, richly carved and 
gilded, with flower gardens and clipped shrubberies ; and that 
of the Great Ditmus, who, my poor devil cicerone informed me, 
in a whisper, was worth two millions ; all these were mansions 
shut up from the world, and only kept to be cleaned. After 



BEOEK 81 

having been conducted from one wonder to another of the 
village, I was ushered by my guide into the grounds and 
gardens of Mynheer Broekker, another mighty cheese-manu- 
facturer, worth eighty thousand guilders a year. I had re- 
peatedly been struck with the similarity of all that I had seen 
in this amphibious little village, to the buildings and land- 
scapes on Chinese platters and tea-pots ; but here I found the 
similarity complete; for I was told that these gardens were 
modelled upon Van Bramm's description of those of Yuen min 
Yuen, in China. Here were serpentine walks, with trellised 
borders; winding canals, with fanciful Chinese bridges; 
flower-beds resembling huge baskets, with the flower of "love 
lies bleeding" falling over to the ground. But mostly had the 
fancy of Mynheer Broekker been displayed about a stagnant 
little lake, on which a corpulent little pinnace lay at anchor. 
On the border was a cottage, within which were a wooden man 
and woman seated at table, and a wooden dog beneath, all the 
size of life : on pressing a spring, the woman conunenced spin- 
ning, and the dog barked furiously. On the lake were wooden 
swans, painted to the life; some floating, others on the nest 
among the rushes; while a wooden sportsman, crouched 
among the bushes, was preparing his gun to take deadly aim. 
In another part of the garden was a dominie in his clerical 
robes, with wig, pipe, and cocked hat ; and mandarins with 
nodding heads, amid red lions, green tigers, and blue hares. 
Last of all, the heathen deities, in wood and plaster, male and 
female, naked and bare-faced as usual, and seeming to stare 
with wonder at finding themselves in such strange company. 

My shabby French guide, while he pointed out all these 
mechanical marvels of the garden, was anxious to let me see 
that he had too polite a taste to be pleased with them. At 
every new nick-nack he would screw down his mouth, shrug 
up his shoulders, take a pinch of snuff, and exclaim: "Mafoi, 
Monsieur, ces Hollandais sont forts pour ces betises la!" 

To attempt to gain admission to any of these stately abodes 
was out of the question, having no company of soldiers to 
enforce a solicitation. I was fortunate enough, however, 
through the aid of my guide, to made my way into the 
kitchen of the illustrious Ditmus, and I question whether the 
parlor would have proved more worthy of observation. The 
cook, a little wiry, hook-nosed woman, worn thin by incessant 
action and friction, was bustling about among her kettles and 
saucepans, with the scullion at her heels, both clattering in 



82 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

wooden shoes, which were as clean and white as the milk- 
pails ; rows of vessels, of brass and copper, regiments of pewter 
dishes, and portly porringers, gave resplendent evidence of the 
intensity of their cleanliness ; the very trammels and hangers 
in the fireplace were highly scoured, and the burnished face of 
the good Saint Nicholas shone forth from the iron plate of the 
chimney-back. 

Among the decorations of the kitchen was a printed sheet of 
woodcuts, representing the various holiday customs of Hol- 
land, with explanatory rhymes. Here I was delighted to 
recognize the jollities of New Year's Day; the festivities of 
Paiis and Pinkster, and all the other merry-makings handed 
down in my native place from the earliest times of New Am- 
sterdam, and which had been such bright spots in the year in 
my childhood. I eagerly made myself master of this precious 
document, for a trifling consideration, and bore it off as a 
memento of the place ; though I question if, in so doing, I did 
not carry off with me the whole current literature of Broek. 

I must not omit to mention that this village is the paradise 
of cows as well as men ; indeed you would almost suppose the 
cow to be as much an object of worship here, as the bull was 
among the ancient Egyptians ; and well does she merit it, for 
she is in fact the patroness of the place. The same scrupulous 
cleanliness, however, which pervades everything else, is mani- 
fested, in the treatment of this venerated animal. She is not 
permitted to perambulate the place, but in winter, when she 
forsakes the rich pasture, a well-built house is provided for 
her, well painted, and maintained in the most perfect order. 
Her stall is of ample dimensions; the floor is scrubbed and 
polished ; her hide is daily curried and brushed and sponged to 
her heart's content, and her tail is daintily tucked up to the 
ceiling, and decorated with a riband ! 

On my way back through the village, I passed the house of 
the prediger, or preacher ; a very comfortable mansion, which 
led me to augur well of the state of religion in the village. On 
inquiry, I was told that for a long time the inhabitants lived 
in a great state of indifference as to religious matters : it was 
in vain that their preachers endeavored to arouse their 
thoughts as to a future state; the joys of heaven, as com- 
monly depicted, were but little to their taste. At length a 
dominie appeared among them who struck out in a different 
vein. He depicted the New Jerusalem as a place all smooth 
and level ; with beautiful dykes, and ditches, and canals ; and 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 83 

houses all shining with paint and varnish, and glazed tiles; 
and where there should never come horse, or ass, or cat, or 
dog, or anything that could make noise or dirt; but there 
should be nothing but rubbing and scrubbing, and washing 
and painting, and gilding and varnishing, for ever and ever, 
amen ! Since that time, the good housewives of Broek have all 
turned their faces Zion-ward. 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 

FROM THE TRAVELLING NOTE-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, 

GENT. 

A Parisian hotel is a street set on end, the grand staircase 
forming the highway, and every floor a separate habitation. 
Let me describe the one in which I am lodged, which may 
serve as a specimen of its class. It is a huge quadrangular 
pile of stone, built round a spacious paved court. The ground 
floor is occupied by sb©ps, magazines, and domestic offices. 
Then comes the entresol, with low ceilings, ihort windows, 
and dwarf chambers ; then succeed a succession of floors, or 
stories, rising one above the other, to the number of Mahomet's 
heavens. Each floor is like a distinct mansion, complete in 
itself, Avith ante-chamber, saloons, dining and sleeping rooms, 
kitchen, and other conveniences for the accommodation of a 
family. Some floors are divided into two or more suites of 
apartments. Each apartment has its main door of entrance, 
opening upon the staircase, or landing-places, and locked like 
a street door. Thus several families and numerous single per- 
sons live under the same roof, totally independent of each 
other, and may live so for years without holding more inter- 
course than is kept up in other cities by residents in the same 
street. 

Like the great world, this little microcosm has its gradations 
of rank and style and importance. The Premier, or first floor, 
with its grand saloons, lofty ceilings, and splendid furniture, 
is decidedly the aristocratical part of the establishment. The 
second floor is scarcely less aristocratical and magnificent ; the 
other floors go on lessening in splendor as they gain in altitude, ' 
and end with the attics, the region of petty tailors, clerks, and 



84 THE (JKAYUJX P APE HIS. 

sewing girls. To make the filling up of the mansion com- 
plete, every odd nook and corner is fitted up as a joli petit 
appartement a gargon (a pretty little bachelor's apartment), 
that is to say, some little dark inconvenient nestling-place for 
a poor devil of a bachelor. 

The whole domain is shut up from the street by a great 
porte-cochere, or portal, calculated for the admission of car- 
riages. This consists of two massy folding-doors, that swing- 
heavily open upon a spacious entrance, passing under the front 
of the edifice into the court-yard. On one side is a spacious 
staircase leading to the upper apartments. Immediately with- 
out the portal is the porter's lodge, a small room with one or 
two bedrooms adjacent, for the accommodation of the con- 
cierge, or porter, and his family. This is one of the most im- 
portant functionaries of the hotel. He is, in fact, the Cerberus 
of the establishment, and no one can pass in or out without his 
knowledge and consent. The porte-cochere in general is fas- 
tened by a sliding bolt, from which a cord or wire passes into 
the porter's lodge. Whoever wishes to go out must speak to 
the porter, who draws the bolt. A visitor from without gives 
a single rap with the massive knocker ; the bolt is immediately 
drawn, as if by an invisible hand; the door stands ajar, the 
visitor pushes it open, and enters. A face presents itself at 
the glass* door of the porter's little chamber ; the stranger pro- 
nounces the name of the person he comes to see. If the person 
or family is of importance, occupying the first or second floor, 
the porter sounds a bell once or twice, to give notice that a 
visitor is at hand. The stranger in the meantime ascends the 
great staircase, the highway common to all, and arrives at the 
outer door, equivalent to a street door, of the suite of rooms 
inhabited by his friends.- Beside this hangs a bell-cord, with 
which he rings for admittance. 

When the family or person inquired for is of less importance, 
or lives in some remote part of the mansion less easy to be 
apprised, no signal is given. The applicant pronounces the 
name at the porter's door, and is told, " Montez an troisieme, 
an quatrieme; sounez a la porte a droite, ou a gauche; 
("Ascend to the third or fourth story; ring the bell on the 
right or left hand door,") as the case may be. 

The porter and his wife act as domestics to such of the in- 
mates of the mansion as do not keep servants ; -making their 
beds, arranging their rooms, fighting their fires, and doing 
other menial offices, for which they receive a monthly stipend. 



They are also in confidential intercourse with the servants of 
the other inmates, and, having an eye on all the in- comers and 
out-goers, are thus enabled, by hook and by crook, to learn the 
secrets and domestic history of every member of the little ter- 
ritory within the porte-cochere. 

The porter's lodge is accordingly a great scene of gossip, 
where all the private affairs of this interior neighborhood are 
discussed. The court-yard, also, is an assembling place in the 
evenings for the servants of the different families, and a sister- 
hood of sewing girls from the entresols and the attics, to play 
at various games, and dance to the music of their own songs, 
and the echoes of their' feet, at which assemblages the porter's 
daughter takes the lead ; a fresh, pretty, buxom girl, generally 
called " La Petite,'''' though almost as tall as a grenadier. 
These little evening gatherings, so characteristic of this gay 
country, are countenanced by the various families of the man- 
sion, who often look down from their windows and balconies, 
on moonlight evenings, and enjoy the simple revels of their 
domestics. I must observe, however, that the hotel I am 
describing is rather a quiet, retired on"*, where most of the 
inmates are permanent residents from year to year, so that 
there is more of the spirit of neighborhood than in the bust- 
ling, fashionable hotels in the gay parts of Paris, which are 
continually changing their inhabitants. 

MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 

I often amuse myself by watching from my window (which, 
by the bye, is tolerably elevated), the movements of the teem- 
ing little world below me ; and as I am on sociable terms with 
the porter and his wife, I gather from them, as they light my 
fire, or serve my breakfast, anecdotes of all my fellow lodgers. 
I have been somewhat curious in studying a little antique 
Frenchman, who occupies one of the jolie chambres a gargon 
already mentioned. He is one of those superannuated veterans 
who flourished before the revolution, and have weathered all 
the storms of Paris, in consequence, very probably, of being 
fortunately too insignificant to attract attention. He has a 
small income, which he manages with the skill of a French 
economist; appropriating so much for his lodgings, so much 
for his meals; so much for his visits to St. Cloud and Ver- 
sailles, and so much for his seat at the theatre. He has resided 
in the hotel for years, and always in the same chamber, which 



S6 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

he furnishes at his own expense. The decorations of the room 
mark his various ages. There are some gallant pictures which 
he hung up in his younger days ; with a portrait of a lady of 
rank, whom he speaks tenderly of, dressed in the old French 
taste ; and a pretty opera dancer, pirouetting in a hoop petti- 
coat, who lately died at a good old age. In a corner of this 
picture is stuck a prescription for rheumatism, and below it 
stands an easy-chair. He has a small parrot at the window, 
to amuse him when within doors, and a pug dog to accompany 
him in his daily peregrinations. While I am writing he is 
crossing the court to go out. He is attired in his best coat, of 
sky-blue, and is doubtless bound for the Tuileries. His hair is 
dressed in the old style, with powdered ear-locks and a pig- tail. 
His little dog trips after him, sometimes on four legs, some- 
times on three, and looking as if his leather small-clothes were 
too tight for him. Now the old gentleman stops to have a 
word with an old crony who lives in the entresol, and is just 
returning from his promenade. Now they take a pinch of 
snuff together; now they pull out huge red cotton handker- 
chiefs (those "flags of abomination," as they have well been 
called) and blow their noses most sonorously. Now they turn 
to make remarks upon their two little dogs, who are exchang- 
ing the morning's salutation ; now they part, and my old gen- 
tleman stops to have a passing word with the porter's wife; 
and now he sallies forth, and is fairly launched upon the town 
for the day. * 

No man is so methodical as a complete idler, and none so 
scrupulous in measuring and portioning out his time as he 
whose time is worth nothing. The old gentleman in question 
has his exact hour for rising, and for shaving himself by a 
small mirror hung against his casement. He sallies forth at a 
certain hour every morning to take his cup of coffee and his 
roll at a certain cafe, where he reads the papers. He has been 
a regular admirer of the lady who presides at the bar, and 
always stops to have a little badinage with her en passant. 
He has his regular walks on the Boulevards and in the Palais 
Eoyal, where he sets his watch by the petard fired off by the 
sun at mid-day. He has his daily resort in the Garden of the 
Tuileries, to meet with a knot of veteran idlers like himself, 
who talk on pretty much the same subjects whenever they 
meet. He has been present at all the sights and shows and 
rejoicings of Paris for the last fifty years; has witnessed the 
great events of the revolution ; the guillotining of the king and 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 87 

queen; the coronation of Bonaparte; the capture of Paris, and 
the restoration of the Bourbons. All these he speaks of with 
the coolness of a theatrical critic ; and I question whether he 
has not been gratified by each in its turn ; not from any inher- 
ent love of tumult, but from that insatiable appetite for spec- 
tacle which prevails among the inhabitants of this metropolis. 
I have been amused with a farce, in which one of these syste-' 
matic old triflers is represented. He sings a song detailing his 
whole day's round of insignificant occupations, and goes to bed 
delighted with the idea that his next day will be an exact repe-. 
tition of the same routine : 

" Je me couche le soir, 
Enchante de pouvoir 
Recommences mon train 
Le lendemain 
Matin." 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 

In another part of the hotel a handsome suite of rooms is 
occupied by an old English gentleman, of great probity, some 
understanding, and very considerable crustiness, who has come 
to France to live economically. He has a very fair property, 
but his wife, being of that blessed kind compared in Scripture 
to the fruitful vine, has overwhelmed him with a family of 
buxom daughters, who hang clustering about him, ready to be 
gathered by any hand. He is seldom to be seen in public with- 
out one hanging on each arm, and smiling on all the world, 
while his own mouth is drawn down at each corner like a mas- 
tiff's with internal growling at everything about him. He ad- 
heres rigidly to English fashion in dress, and trudges about in 
long gaiters and broad-brimmed hat ; while his daughters 
almost overshadow him with feathers, flowers, and French 
boimets. 

He contrives to keep up an atmosphere of English habits, 
opinions, and prejudices, and to carry a semblance of London 
into the very heart of Paris. His mornings are spent at Galig- 
nani's news-room, where he forms one of a knot of inveterate 
quidnuncs, who read the same articles over a dozen times 
in a dozen different papers. He generally dines in company 
with some of his own countrymen, and they have what is 
called a "comfortable sitting" after dinner, in the English 
fashion, drinking wine, discussing the news of the London 
papers, and canvassing the French character, the French mer 



gg THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

tropolis, and the French revolution, ending with a unanimous 
admission of English courage, English morality, English cook- 
ery, English wealth, the magnitude of London, and the ingrati- 
tude of the French. 

His evenings are chiefly spent at a cluh of his countrymen, 
where the London papers are taken. Sometimes his daughters 
entice him to the theatres, but not often. He abuses French 
tragedy, as all fustian and bombast, Talma as a ranter, and 
Duchesnois as a mere termagant. It is true his ear is not suffi- 
ciently familiar with the language to understand French verse, 
and ho generally goes to sleep during the performance. The 
wit of the French comedy is flat and pointless to him. He 
would not give one of Munden's wry faces, or Listen's inex- 
pressible looks, for the whole of it. 

He will not admit that Paris has any advantage over London. 
The Seine is a muddy rivulet in comparison with the Thames ; 
the West End of London surpasses the finest parts of the 
French capital; and on some one's observing that there was 
a very thick fog out of doors: "Pish!" said he, crustily, "it's 
nothing to the fogs we have in London." 

He has infinite trouble in bringing his table into anything 
like conformity to English rule. With his liquors, it is true, 
he is tolerably successful. He procures London porter, and a 
stock of port and sherry, at considerable expense ; for he ob- 
serves that he cannot stand those cursed thin French wines, 
they dilute his blood so much as to give him the rheumatism. 
As to their white wines, he stigmatizes them as mere substitutes 
for cider; and as % to claret, why "it would bt port if it could." 
He has continual quarrels with his French cook, whom he 
renders wretched by insisting on his conforming to Mrs. Glass; 
for it is easier to convert a Frenchman from his religion than 
his cookery. The poor fellow, by dint of repeated efforts, once 
brought himself to serve up ros bif sufficiently raw to suit what 
he considered the cannibal taste of his master ; but then he 
could not refrain, at the last moment, adding some exquisite 
sauce, that put the old gentleman in a fury. 

He detests wood-fires, and has procured a quantity of coal ; 
but not having a grate, he is obliged to burn it on the hearth. 
Here he sits poking and stirring the fire with one end of a tongs, 
while the room is as murky as a smithy ; railing at French 
chimneys, French masons, and French architects; giving a 
poke at the end of every sentence, as though he were stirring 
up the very bowels of the delinquents he is anathematizing. 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 89 

He lives in a state militant with inanimate objects around him ; 
gets into high dudgeon with doors and casements, because they 
will not come under English law, and has implacable feuds 
with sundry refractory pieces of furniture. Among these is 
one in particular with which he is sure to have a high quarrel 
every time he goes to dress. It is a commode, one of those 
smooth, polished, plausible pieces of French furniture, that 
have the perversity of five hundred devils. Each drawer has a 
will of its own ; will open or not, just as the whim takes it, and 
sets lock and key at defiance. Sometimes a drawer will refuse 
to yield to either persuasion or force, and will part with both 
handles rather than yield ; another will come out in the most 
coy and coquettish manner imaginable; elbowing along, zig- 
zag ; one corner retreating as the other advances ; making a 
thousand difficulties and objections at every move ; until the 
old gentleman, out of all patience, gives a sudden jerk, and 
brings drawer and contents into the middle of the floor. 
His hostility to tins unlucky piece of f urniture increases every 
day, as if incensed that it does not grow better. He is like the 
fretful invalid who cursed his bed, that the longer he lay the 
harder it grew. The only benefit he has derived from the 
quarrel is, that it has furnished him with a crusty joke, which 
he utters on all occasions. He swears that a French commode 
is the most incommodious thing in existence, and that although 
the nation cannot make a joint-stool that will stand steady, yet 
they are always talking of everything's being perfectionee. 

His servants understand his humor, and avail themselves of 
it. He was one day disturbed by a pertinacious rattling and 
shaking at one of the doors, and bawled out in an angry tone 
to know the cause of the disturbance. "Sir," said the foot- 
man, testily, "it's this confounded French lock !" " Ah !" said 
the old gentleman, pacified by this hit at the nation, "I 
thought there was something French at the bottom of it !" 

ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 

As I am a mere looker-on in Europe, and hold myself as 
much as possible aloof from its quarrels and prejudices, I feel 
something like one overlooking a game, who, without any 
great skill of his own, can occasionally perceive the blunders 
of much abler players. This neutrality of feeling enables me 
to enjoy the contrasts of character presented in tins time of 
general peace, when the various people of Europe, who have so 



90 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

long been sundered by wars, are brought together and placed 
side by side in this great gathering-place of nations. No 
greater contrast, however, is exhibited than that of the 
French and English. The peace has deluged this gay capital 
with English visitors of all ranks and conditions. They 
throng every place of curiosity and amusement ; fill the pub- 
lic gardens, the galleries, the cafes, saloons, theatres; always 
herding together, never associating with the French. The 
two nations are like two threads of different colors, tangled 
together but never blended. 

In fact, thq$r present a continual antithesis, and seem to value 
themselves upon being unlike each other ; yet each have their 
peculiar merits, which should entitle them to each other's 
esteem. The French intellect is quick and active. It flashes 
its way into a subject with the rapidity of lightning ; seizes 
upon remote conclusions with a sudden bound, and its deduc- 
tions are almost intuitive. The English intellect is less rapid, 
but more persevering ; less sudden, but more sure in its deduc- 
tions. The quickness and mobility of the French enable them 
to find enjoyment in the multiplicity of sensations. They 
speak and act more from immediate impressions than from 
reflection and meditation. They are therefore more social and 
communicative ; more fond of society, and of places of public 
resort and amusement. An Englishman is more reflective in 
his habits. He lives in the world of his own thoughts, and 
seems more self -existent and self-dependent. He loves the 
quiet of his own apartment ; even when abroad, he in a man- 
ner makes a little solitude around him, by his silence and 
reserve; he moves about shy and solitary, and as it were 
buttoned up, body and soul. 

The French are great optimists ; they seize upon every good 
as it flies, and revel in the passing pleasure. The Englishman 
is too apt to neglect the present good, in preparing against the 
possible evil. However adversities may lower, let the sun 
shine but for a moment, and forth sallies the mercurial French- 
man, in holiday dress and holiday spirits, gay as a butterfly, 
as though his sunshine were perpetual ; but let the sun beam 
never so brightly, so there be but a cloud in the horizon, the 
wary Englishman ventures forth distrustfully, with his um- 
brella in his hand. 

The Frenchman has a wonderful facility at turning small 
things to advantage. No one can be gay and luxurious on 
smaller means ; no one requires less expense to be happy. He 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 9t 

practises a kind of gilding in his style of living, and hammers 
out every guinea into gold leaf. The Englishman, on the con- 
trary, is expensive in his habits, and expensive in his enjoy- 
ments. He values everything, whether useful or ornamental, 
by what it costs. He has no satisfaction in show, unless it be 
solid and complete. Everything goes with him by the square 
foot. Whatever display he makes, the depth is sure to equal 
the surface. 

The Frenchman's habitation, like himself, is open, cheerful, 
bustling, and noisy. He lives in a part of a great hotel, with 
wide portal, paved court, a spacious dirty stone staircase, and 
a family on every floor. All is clatter and chatter. He is good 
humored and talkative with his servants, sociable with his 
neighbors, and complaisant to all the world. Anybody has 
access to himself and his apartments; Ins very bed-room is 
open to visitors, whatever may be its state of confusion ; and 
all tins not from any peculiarly hospitable feeling, but from 
that communicative habit which predominates over his char- 
acter. 

The Englishman, on the contrary, ensconces himself in a snug 
brick mansion, which he has all to himself; locks the front 
door ; puts broken bottles along his walls, and spring-guns and 
man-traps in his gardens; shrouds himself with trees and 
window-curtains; exults in his Quiet and privacy, and seems 
disposed to keep out noise, daylight, and company. His house, 
like himself, has a reserved, inhospitable exterior ; yet whoever 
gains admittance is apt to find a warm heart and warm fireside 
within. 

The French excel in wit, the English in humor; the French 
have gayer fancy, the English richer imagination. The former 
are full of sensibility ; easily moved, and prone to sudden and 
great excitement; but their excitement is not durable; the 
English are more phlegmatic ; not so readily affected, but capa- 
ble of being aroused to great enthusiasm. The faults of these 
opposite temperaments are that the vivacity of the French is 
apt to sparkle up and be frothy, the gravity of the English to 
settle down and grow muddy. When the two characters can 
be fixed in a medium, the French kept from effervescence and 
the English from stagnation, both will be found excellent. 

This contrast of character may also be noticed in the great 
concerns of the two nations. The ardent Frenchman is all for 
military renown ; he fights for glory, that is to say for success 
in arms. For, provided the national flag is victorious, he cares 



92 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

little about the expense, the injustice, or the inutility of the 
war. It is wonderful how the poorest Frenchman will revel on 
a triumphant bulletin; a great victory is meat and drink to 
him ; and at the sight of a military sovereign, bringing home 
captured cannon and captured standards, he throws up his 
greasy cap in the air, and is ready to jump out of his wooden 
shoes for joy. 

John Bull, on the contrary, is a reasoning, considerate per- 
son. If he does wrong, it is in the most rational way imagin- 
able. He fights because the good of the world requires it. He 
is a moral person, and makes war upon his neighbor for the 
maintenance of peace and good order, and sound principles. 
He is a money -making personage, and fights for the prosperity 
of commerce and manufactures. Thus the two nations have 
been fighting, time out of mind, for glory and good. The 
French, in pursuit of glory, have had their capital twice taken ; 
and John in pursuit of good, has run himself over head and 
ears in debt. 

THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 

I have sometimes fancied I could discover national charac- 
teristics in national edifices. In the Chateau of the Tuileries, 
for instance, I perceive the same jumble of contrarieties that 
marks the French character ; the same whimsical mixture of 
the great and the little ; the splendid and the paltry, the sub- 
lime and the grotesque. On visiting this famous pile, the first 
thing that strikes both eye and ear is military display. The 
courts glitter with steel-clad soldiery, and resound with the 
tramp of horse, the roll of drum, and the bray of trumpet. 
Dismounted guardsmen patrol its arcades, with loaded carbines, 
jingling spurs, and clanking sabres. Gigantic grenadiers are 
posted about its staircases; young officers of the guards loll 
from the balconies, or lounge in groups upon the terraces; and 
the gleam of bayonet from window to window, shows that 
sentinels are pacing up and down the corridors and ante- 
chambers. The first floor is brilliant with the splendors of a 
court. French taste has tasked itself in adorning the sump- 
tuous suites of apartments ; nor are the gilded chapel and the 
splendid theatre forgotten, where piety and pleasure are next- 
door neighbors, and harmonize together with perfect French 
bienseance. 

Mingled up with all this regal and military magnificence, is 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 93 

a world of whimsical and makeshift detail. A great part of 
the huge edifice is cut up into little chambers and nestling- 
places for retainers of the court, dependants on retainers, and 
hangers-on of dependants. Some are squeezed into narrow 
entresols, those low, dark, intermediate slices of apartments 
between floors, the inhabitants of which seem shoved in edge- 
ways, like books between narrow shelves ; others are perched 
like swallows, undes the eaves ; the high roofs, too, which are 
as tall and steep as a French cocked-hat, have rows of little 
dormer windows, tier above tier, just large enough to admit 
light and air for some dormitory, and to enable its occupant 
to peep out at the sky. Even to the very ridge of the roof, 
may be seen here and there one of these air-holes, with a stove- 
pipe beside it, to carry off the smoke from the handful of fuel 
with which its weazen-faced tenant simmers his demi-tasse of 
coffee. 

On approaching the palace from the Pont Royal, you take in 
at a glance all the various strata of inhabitants ; the garreteer 
in the roof; the retainer in the entresol; the courtiers at the 
casements of the royal apartments ; while on the ground-floor 
a steam of savory odors and a score or two of cooks, in white 
caps, bobbing their heads about the windows, betray that 
scientific and all-important laboratory, the Royal Kitchen. 

Go into the grand ante-chamber of the royal apartments on 
Sunday and see the mixture of Old and New France; the old 
emigres, returned with the Bourbons; little withered, spindle- 
shanked old noblemen, clad in court dresses, that figured in 
these saloons before the revolution, and have been carefully 
treasured up during their exile ; with the solitaires and ailes de 
pigeon of former days ; and the court swords strutting out be- 
hind, like pins stuck through dry bettles. See them haunting 
the scenes of their former splendor, in hopes of a restitution of 
estates, like ghosts haunting the vicinity of buried treasure ; 
while around them you see the Young France, that have grown 
up in the fighting school of Napoleon ; all equipped en militaire; 
tall, hardy, frank, vigorous, sun-burned, fierce- whiskered ; 
with tramping boots, towering crests, and glittering breast- 
plates. 

It is incredible the number of ancient and hereditary feeders 
on royalty said to be housed in this establishment. Indeed all 
the royal palaces abound with noble families returned from 
exile, and who have nestling-places allotted them while they 
await the restoration of their estates, or the much-talked-of 



94 THE ChAYON PAPERS. 

law, indemnity. Some of them have fine quarters, but poor 
living. Some families have but five or six hundred francs a 
year, and all their retinue consists of a servant woman. With 
all this, they maintain their old aristocratical hauteur, look 
down with vast contempt upon the opulent families which have 
risen since the revolution ; stigmatize them all as parvenus, or 
upstarts, and refuse to visit them. 

In regarding the exterior of the Tuileries, with all its out- . 
ward signs of internal populousness, I have often thought 
what a rare sight it would be to see it suddenly unroofed, and 
all its nooks and corners laid open to the day. It would be 
like turning up the stump of an old tree, and dislodging the 
world of grubs, and ants, and beetles lodged, beneath. Indeed 
there is a scandalous anecdote current, that in the time of one 
of the petty plots, when petards were exploded under the win- 
dows of the Tuileries, the police made a sudden investigation 
of the palace at four o'clock in the morning, when a scene of 
the most whimsical confusion ensued. Hosts of supernume- 
rary inhabitants were found foisted into the huge edifice; 
every rat-hole had its occupant; and places which had been 
considered as tenanted only by spiders, were found crowded 
with a surreptitious population. It is added, that many ludi- 
crous accidents occurred ; great scampering and slamming of 
doors, and whisking away in night-gowns and slippers; and 
several persons, who were found by accident in their neigh- 
bors' chambers, evinced indubitable astonishment at the cir- 
cumstance. 

As I have fancied I could read the French character in the 
national palace of the Tuileries, so I have pictured to myself 
some of the traits of John Bull in his royal abode of Windsor 
Castle. The Tuileries, outwardly a peaceful palace, is in effect 
a swaggering military hold ; while the old castle, on the con- 
trary, in spite of its bullying look, is completely under petti- 
coat government. Every corner and nook is built up into 
some snug, cosy nestling-place, some "procreant cradle," not 
tenanted by meagre expectants or whiskered warriors, but by 
sleek placemen ; knowing realizers of present pay and present 
pudding; who seem placed there not to kill and destroy, but 
to breed and multiply. Nursery-maids and children shine 
with rosy faces at the windows, and swarm about the courts 
and terraces. The very soldiers have a pacific look, and when 
off duty may be seen loitering about the place with the nursery- 
maids ; not making love to them in the gay gallant style of the 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 95 

French soldiery, but with infinite bonhomie aiding them to 
take care of the broods of children. 

Though the old castle is in decay, everything about it thrives ; 
the very crevices of the walls are tenanted by swallows, rooks, 
and pigeons, all sure of quiet lodgment; the ivy strikes its 
roots deep in the fissures, and flourishes about the mouldering 
tower.* Thus it is with honest John; according to his own 
account, he is ever going to ruin, yet everything that lives on 
him, thrives and waxes fat. He would fain be a soldier, and 
swagger like his neighbors; but his domestic, quiet-loving, 
uxorious nature continually gets the upper hand ; and though 
he may mount his helmet and gird on his sword, yet he is apt 
to sink into the plodding, pains-taking father of a family ; with 
a troop of children at his heels, and his women-kind hanging 
on each arm. 

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 

I have spoken heretofore with some levity of the contrast 
that exists between the English and French character ; but it 
deserves more serious consideration: They are the two great 
nations of modern times most diametrically opposed, and most 
worthy of each other's rivalry; essentially distinct in their 
characters, excelling in opposite qualities, and reflecting lustre 
on each other by their very opposition. In nothing is this con- 
trast more strikingly evinced than in their military conduct. 
For ages have they been contending, and for ages have they 
crowded each other's history with acts of splendid heroism. 
Take the battle of Waterloo, for instance, the last and most 
memorable trial of their rival prowess. Nothing could surpass 
the brilliant daring on the one side, and the steadfast enduring 
on the other. The French cavalry broke like waves on the 
compact squares of English infantry. They were seen gallop- 
ing round those serried walls of men, seeking in vain for an 
entrance; tossing their arms in the air, in the heat of their 
enthusiasm, and braving the whole front of battle. The 
British troops, on the other hand, forbidden to move or fire, 
stood firm and enduring. Their columns were ripped up by 
cannonry; whole rows were swept down at a shot; the sur- 
vivors closed their ranks, and stood firm. In this way many 



* The above sketch was written before the thorough repairs and magnificent 
additions that have been made of late years to Windsor Castle, 



96 THE CRAYON PAPERS 

columns stood through the pelting of the iron tempest without 
firing a shot ; without any action to stir their blood, or excite 
their spirits. Death thinned their ranks, but could not shake 
their souls. 

A beautiful instance of the quick and generous impulses to 
which the French are prone, is given in the case of a French 
cavalier, in the hottest of the action, charging furiously upon a 
British officer, but perceiving in the moment of assault that his 
adversary had lost his sword-arm, dropping the point of his 
sabre, and courteously riding on. Peace be with that generous 
warrior, whatever were his fate! If he went down in the 
storm of battle, with the foundering fortunes of his chieftain, 
may the turf of Waterloo grow green above his grave ! and 
happier far would be the fate of such a spirit, to sink amid the 
tempest, unconscious of defeat, than to survive, and mourn 
over the blighted laurels of his country. 

In this way the two armies fought through a long and bloody 
day. The French with enthusiastic valor, the English with 
cool, inflexible courage, until Fate, as if to leave the question 
of superiority still undecided between two such adversaries, 
brought up the Prussians to decide the fortunes of the field. 

It was several years afterward that I visited the field of 
Waterloo. The ploughshare had been busy with its oblivious 
labors, and the frequent harvest had nearly obliterated the 
vestiges of war. Still the blackened ruins of Hoguemont stood, 
a monumental pile, to mark the violence of this vehement 
struggle. Its broken walls, pierced by bullets, and shattered 
by explosions, showed the deadly strife that had taken place 
within; when Gaul and Briton, hemmed in between narrow 
walls, hand to hand and foot to foot, fought from garden to 
court-yard, from court-yard to chamber, with intense and con- 
centrated rivalship. Columns of smoke towered from this 
vortex of battle as from a volcano: "it was," said my guide, 
"like a little hell upon earth." Not far off, two or three broad 
spots of rank, unwholesome green still marked the places 
where these rival warriors, after their fierce and fitful struggle, 
slept quietly together in the lap of their common mother earth. 
Over all the rest of the field peace had resumed its sway. The 
thoughtless whistle of the peasant floated on the air, instead of 
the trumpet's clangor ; the team slowly labored up the hill-side, 
once shaken by the hoofs of rushing squadrons ; and wild fields 
of corn waved peacefully over the soldiers' graves, as summer 
yeas dimple over the place where many a tall ship lies buried. 



SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825. 97 

To the foregoing desultory notes on the French military 
character, let me append a few traits which I picked up ver- 
bally hi one of the French provinces. They may have already 
appeared in print, but I have never met with them. 

At the breaking out of the revolution, when so many of the 
old families emigrated, a descendant of the great Turenne, by 
the name of De Latour D'Auvergne, refused to accompany his 
relations, and entered into the Republican army. He served 
in all the campaigns of the revolution, distinguished himself 
'by his valor, his accomplishments, and his generous spirit, and 
might have risen to fortune and to the highest honors.' He 
refused, however, all rank in the army, above that of captain, 
and would receive no recompense for his achievements but a 
sword of honor. Napoleon, in testimony of his merits, gave 
him the title of Premier Grenadier de France (First Grenadier 
of France), which was the only title he would ever bear! He 
was killed in Germany, in 1809 or '«). To honor his memory, 
his place was always retained in his regiment, as if he still oc- 
cupied it ; and whenever the regiment was mustered, and the 
name of De Latour D'Auvergne was called out, the reply was, 
" Dead on the field of honor!" 



PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 

Paris presented a singular aspect just after the downfall of 
Napoleon, and the restoration of the Bourbons. It was filled 
with a restless, roaming population ; a dark, sallow race, with 
fierce moustaches, black cravats, and feverish, menacing 
looks; men suddenly thrown out of employ b$Tthe return of 
peace; officers cut short in their career, and cast loose with 
scanty means, many of them in utter indigence, upon the 
world; the broken elements of armies. They haunted the 
places of public resort, like restless, unhappy spirits, taking 
no pleasure; hanging about, like lowering clouds that linger 
after a storm, and giving a singular Ir of gloom to this other- 
wise gay metropolis. 

The vaunted courtesy of the old school, the smooth urbanity 
that prevailed m former days of settled government and long- 
established aristocracy, had disappeared amid the savage re- 
publicanism of the revolution and the military furor of the 
empire ; recent reverses had stung the national vanity to the - 
quick; and English travellers, who crowded to Paris on the 
return of peace, expecting to meet with a gay, good-humored, 



98 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

complaisant populace, such as existed in the time of the " Sen- 
timental Journey," were surprised at finding them irritable 
and fractious, quick at fancying affronts, and not unapt to 
offer insults. They accordingly inveighed with heat and bit- 
terness at the rudeness they experienced in the French 
metropolis ; yet what better had they to expect? Had Charles 
II. been reinstated in his kingdom by the valor of French^ 
troops; had he been wheeled triumphantly to London over, 
the trampled bodies and trampled standards of England's: 
bravest sons; had a French general dictated to the English 
capital, and a French army been quartered in Hyde-Park ; had 
Paris poured forth its motley population, and the wealthy 
bourgeoisie of every French trading town swarmed to London ; 
crowding its squares; filling its streets with their equipages; 
thronging its fashionable hotels, and places of amusements; 
elbowing its impoverished nobility out of their palaces and 
opera-boxes, and looking down on the humiliated inhabitants 
as a conquered people ; in such a reverse of the case, what degree 
of courtesy would the populace of London have been apt to 
exercise toward their visitors? * 

On the contrary, I have always admired the degree of mag- 
nanimity exhibited by the French on the oecupation of their 
capital by the English. When we consider the military ambi- 
tion of this nation, its love of glory; the splendid height to 
which its renown in arms had recently been carried, and with 
these, the tremendous reverses it had just undergone; its 
armies shattered, annihilated ; its capital captured, garrisoned, 
and overrun, and that too by its ancient rival, the English, 
toward whom it had cherished for centuries a jealous and 
almost religious hostility ; could we have wondered if the tiger 
spirit of this fiery people had broken out in bloody feuds and 
deadly quarrels; and that they had sought to rid themselves 
in any way of their invaders? But it is cowardly nations only, 
those who dare not wield the sword, that revenge themselves 
with the lurking dagger. There were no assassinations in 
Paris. The French had fought valiantly, desperately, in the 
field ; but, when valor was no longer of avail, they submitted 
like gallant men to a fate they could not withstand. Some in- 
stances of insult from the populace were experienced by their 

* The above remarks were suggested by a conversation with the late Mr. Can- 
ning, whom the author met in Paris, and who expressed himself in the most liberal 
way concerning the magnanimity of the French on the occupation of their capital 
by strangers. 



SKETCHES IN PAMIS IN 1825. 99 

English visitors ; some personal rencontres, which led to duels, 
did take place ; but these smacked of open and honorable hos- 
tility. No instances of lurking and perfidious revenge oc- 
curred, and the British soldier patrolled the streets of Paris 
safe from treacherous assault. 

If the English met with harshness and repulse in social inter- 
course, it was in some degree a proof that the people are more 
sincere than has been represented. The emigrants who had 
just returned, were not yet reinstated. Society was constituted 
of those who had flourished under the late regime ; the newly 
ennobled, the recently enriched, who felt their prosperity and 
their consequence endangered by this change of things. The 
broken-down officer, who saw his glory tarnished, his fortune 
ruined, his occupation gone, could not be expected to look with 
complacency upon the authors of his downfall. The English 
visitor, flushed with health, and wealth, and victory, could 
little enter into the feelings of the blighted warrior, scarred 
with a hundred battles, an exile from the camp, broken in con- 
stitution by the wars, impoverished by the peace, and cast 
back, a needy stranger in the splendid but captured metropolis 
of his country. 

" Oh ! who can tell what heroes feel, 
When all but life and honor's lost!" 

And here let me notice the conduct of the French soldiery 
on the dismemberment of the army of the Loire, when two 
hundred thousand men were suddenly thrown out of employ ; 
men who had been brought up to the camp, and scarce knew 
any other home. Few in civil, peaceful life, are aware of the 
severe trial to the feelir-gs that takes place on the dissolution 
of a regiment. There is a fraternity in arms. The community 
of dangers, hardships, enjoyments ; the participation in battles 
and victories ; the companionship in adventures, at a time of 
life when men's feelings are most fresh, susceptible, and ardent, 
all these bind the members of a regiment strongly together. 
To them the regiment is friends, family, home. They identify 
themselves with its fortunes, its glories, its disgraces. Imagine 
this romantic tie suddenly dissolved ; the regiment broken up ; 
the occupation of its members gone ; their military pride mor- 
tified ; the career of glory closed behind them ; that of obscurity, 
dependence, want, neglect, perhaps beggary, before them; 
Such was the case with the soldiers of the Army of the Loire. 
They were sent off in squads, with officers, to the principal 



100 *!## CttATON PAPERS. 

towns where they were to be disarmed and discharged. In 
this way they passed through the country with arms in their 
hands, often exposed to slights and scoffs, to hunger and vari- 
ous hardships and privations ; but they conducted themselves 
magnanimously, without any of those outbreaks of violence 
and wrong that so often attend the dismemberment of armies. 



The few years that have elapsed since the time above alluded 
to, have already had their effect. The proud and angry Spirits 
which then roamed about Paris unemployed have cooled down 
and found occupation. The national character 'begins to re- 
cover its old channels, though worn deeper by recent torrents. 
The natural urbanity of the French begins to find its way, like 
oil, to the surface, though there still remains a -degree of rough- 
ness and bluntness of manner, partly real, and partly affected, 
by such as imagine it to indicate force and frankness. The 
events of the last thirty years have rendered the French a 
more reflecting people. They have acquired greater indepen- 
dence of mind and strength of judgment, together with a por- 
tion of that prudence which results from experiencing *the 
dangerous consequences of excesses. However that period 
may have been stained by crimes, and filled with extrava- 
gances, the French have certainly come out of it a greater 
nation 'than before. One of their own philosophers observes 
that in one or two generations the nation will probably com- 
bine the ease and elegance of the old character with force and 
solidity. They were light, he says, before the revolution; then 
wild and savage; they have become more thoughtful and re- 
flective. It is only old Frenchmen, now-a-days, that are gay 
and trivial; the young are very serious personages. 



P.S. In the course of a morning's walk, about the time the 
above remarks were written, I observed the Duke of Wellington, 
who was on a brief visit to Paris. He was alone, simply attired 
in a blue frock; with an umbrella under his arm, and his hat 
drawn over his eyes, and sauntering across the Place Ven- 
dome, close by the Column of Napoleon. He gave a glance up 
at the column as he passed, and continued his loitering way up 
the Rue de la Paix ; stopping occasionally to gaze in at the 
shop-windows; elbowed now and then by other gazers, who 
little suspected that the quiet, lounging individual they wero 
jostling so unceremoniously, was the conqueror who had twice 



AMERICAN RESEARCHES IN ITALY. 101 

entered the capital victoriously ; had controlled the destinies 
of the nation, and eclipsed the glory of the military idol, at the 
base of whose column he was thus negligently sauntering. 

Some years afterward. I was at an evening's entertainment 
given by the Duke at Apsley House, to William IV. The Duke 
had " manifested his admiration of his great adversary, by 
having portraits of him in different parts of the house. At 
the bottom of the grand staircase, stood the colossal statue of 
the Emperor, by Canova. It was of marble, in the antique 
style, with one arm partly extended, holding a figure of vic- 
tory. Over* this arm the ladies, in tripping up stairs to the 
ball, had thrown their shawls. It was a singular office for the 
statue of Napoleon to perform in the mansion of the Duke of 
Wellington ! 

" Imperial Caesar dead, and turned to clay," etc., etc. 



AMERICAN RESEARCHES IN ITALY. 

LIFE OF TASSO: RECOVERY OF A LOST PORTRAIT OF DANTE. 

To the Editor of the Knickerbocker: 

Sir : Permit me trough the pages of your magazine to call 
the attention of the public to the learned and elegant re- 
searches in Europe of one of our countrymen, Mr. R. H. 
Wilde, of Georgia, formerly a member of the House of Repre- 
sentatives. After leaving Congress, Mr. Wilde a few years 
since spent about eighteen months in travelling through differ- 
ent parts of Europe, until he became stationary for a time in 
Tuscany. Here he occupied himself with researches concern- 
ing the private life of Tasso, whose mysterious and romantic 
love for the Princess Leonora, his madness and imprisonment, 
had recently become the theme of a literary controversy, not 
yet ended ; curious in itself, and rendered still more curious by 
some alleged manuscripts of the poet's, brought forward by 
Count Alberti. Mr. Wilde entered into the investigation with 
the enthusiasm of a poet, and the patience and accuracy of a 
case-hunter; and has produced a work now in the press, in- 
which the "vexed questions" concerning Tasso are most ably 
discussed, and lights thrown upon them by his letters, and by 
various of his sonnets, which last are rendered into English 



102 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

with rare felicity. While Mr. Wilde was occupied upon this 
work, he became acquainted with Signor Carlo Liverati, an 
artist of considerable merit, and especially well versed in the 
antiquities of Florence. This gentleman mentioned inciden- 
tally one day, in the course of conversation, that there once 
and probably still existed in the Bargello, anciently both the 
prison and the palace of the republic, an authentic portrait of 
Dante. It was believed to be in fresco, on a wall which after- 
ward, by some strange neglect or inadvertency, had been cov- 
ered with whitewash. Signor Liverati mentioned the circum- 
stance merely to deplore the loss of so precious a .portrait, ar 1 
to regret the almost utter hopelessness of its recovery. 

As Mr. Wilde had not as yet imbibed that enthusiastic 
admiration for Dante which possesses all Italians, by whom 
the poet is almost worshipped, this conversation made but a 
slight impression on him at the time. Subsequently, how- 
ever, his researches concerning Tasso being ended, he began 
to amuse his leisure hours with attempts to translate some 
specimens of Italian lyric poetry, and to compose very short 
biographical sketches of the authors. In these specimens, 
which as yet exist only in manuscript, he has shown the same 
critical knowledge of the Italian language, and admirable 
command of the English, that characterize his translations 
of Tasso. He had not advanced far in these exercises, when 
the obscure and contradictory accounts of many incidents in 
the life of Dante caused him much embarrassment, and 
sorely piqued his curiosity. About the same time he received, 
through the courtesy of Don Neri dei Principi Corsini, what 
he had long most fervently desired, a permission from the 
Grand Duke to pursue his investigations in the secret archives 
of Florence, with power to obtain copies therefrom. This was 
a rich and almost unwrought mine of literary research ; for to 
Italians themselves, as well as to foreigners, their archives for 
the most part have been long inaccessible. For two years 
Mr. Wilde devoted himself with indefatigable ardor to ex- 
plore the records of the republic during the time of Dante. 
These being written in barbarous Latin and semi-Gothic 
characters, on parchment more or less discolored and muti* 
lated, with ink sometimes faded, were rendered still more 
illegible by the arbitrary abbreviations of the notaries. They 
require, in fact, an especial study; few even of the officers 
employed in the " Archivio delle Riformagione" can read them 
currently and correctly. 



AMERICAN RESEARCHES IN ITALY. 103 

Mr. Wilde however persevered in his laborious task with 
a patience severely tried, but invincible. Being without an 
index, each file, each book, required to be examined page by 
page, to ascertain whether any particular of the immortal 
poet's political life had escaped the untiring industry of his 
countrymen. This toil was not wholly fruitless, and several 
interesting facts obscurely known, and others utterly un 
known by the Italians themselves, are drawn forth by Mr. 
Wilde from the oblivion of these archives. 

While thus engaged, the circumstance of the lost portrait 
of Dante was again broug.ht to Mr. W^ilde's mind, but now 
excited intense interest. In perusing the notes of the late 
learned Canonico Moreri on Filelfo's life of Dante, he found 
it stated that a portrait of the poet by Giotto was formerly 
to be seen in the Bargello. He learned also that Signor 
Scotti, who has charge of the original drawings of the old 
masters in the imperial and royal gallery, had made several 
years previously an ineffectual attempt to set on foot a project 
for the recovery of the lost treasure. Here was a new vein 
of inquiry, which Mr. Wilde followed up with his usual energy 
and sagacity. He soon satisfied himself, by reference to 
Vasari, and to the still more ancient and decisive authority 
of Filippo Villari, who lived shortly after the poet, that Giotto, 
the friend and contemporary of Dante, did undoubtedly paint 
his likeness in the place indicated. Giotto died in 1336, but 
as Dante was banished, and was even sentenced to be burned, 
in 1302, it was obvious the work must have been e:.t»cuted 
before that time ; since the portrait of one outlawed and capi- 
tally convicted as an enemy to the commonwealth would 
never have been ordered or tolerated in the chapel of the 
royal palace. It was clear, then, that the portrait must have 
been painted between 1290 and 1302. 

Mr. Wilde now revolved in his own mind the possibility 
that this precious relic might remain undestroyed under its 
coat of whitewash, and might yet be restored to the world. 
For a moment he felt an impulse to undertake the enterprise ; 
but feared that, in a foreigner from a new world, any part of 
which is unrepresented at the Tuscan court, it might appear 
like an intrusion. He soon however found a zealous coadjutor. 
This was one Giovanni Aubrey Bezzi, a Piedmontese exile, 
who had long been a resident in England, and was familiar 
with its language and literature. He was now on a visit to 
Florence, which liberal and hospitable city is always open to 



104 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

men of merit who for political reasons have been excluded 
from other parts of Italy. Signor Bezzi partook deeply of the 
enthusiasm of his countrymen for the memory of Dante, and 
sympathized with Mr. Wilde in his eagerness to retrieve if pos- 
sible the lost portrait. They had several consultations as to 
the means to be adopted to effect their purpose, without in- 
curring the charge of undue officiousness. To lessen any ob- 
jections that might occur, they resolved to ask for nothing but 
permission to search for the fresco painting at their own ex- 
pense ; and should any remains of it be found, then to propose 
to the nobility and gentry of Florence an association for the 
purpose of completing the undertaking, and effectually recover- 
ing the lost portrait. 

For the same reason the formal memorial addressed to the 
C4rand Duke was drawn up in the name of Florentines ; among 
whom were the celebrated Bartolini, now President of the 
School of Sculpture in the Imperial and Royal Academy, Sig- 
nor Paolo Ferroni, of the noble family of that name, who has 
exhibited considerable talent for painting, and Signor Gas- 
parini, also an artist. This petition was urged and supported 
with indefatigable zeal by Signor Bezzi; and being warmly 
countenanced by Count Nerli and other functionaries, met 
with more prompt success than had been anticipated. Signor 
Marini, a skilful artist, who had succeeded in similar opera- 
tions, was now employed to remove the whitewash by a pro- 
cess of his own, by which any fresco painting that might exist 
beneath would be protected from injury. He set to work 
patiently and cautiously. In a short time he met with evi- 
dence of the existence of the fresco. From under the coat 
of whitewash the head of an angel gradually made its appear- 
ance, and was pronounced to be by the pencil of Giotto. 

The enterprise was now prosecuted with increased ardor. 
Several months were expended on the task, and three sides 
of the chapel wall were uncovered ; they were all painted in 
fresco by Giotto, with the history of the Magdalen, exhibiting 
"her conversion, her penance, and her beatification. The fig- 
ures, however, were all those of saints and angels ; no histori- 
cal portraits had yet been discovered, and doubts began to 
be entertained whether there were any. Still the recovery 
of an indisputable work of Giotto's was considered an ample 
reward for any toil; and the Ministers of the Grand Duke, 
acting under his directions, assumed on his behalf the past 
charges and future management of the enterprise. 



AMmiCAM nEsEAlWIltiS IN ITALY. 105 

At length, on the uncovering of th§ fourth wall, the under- 
taking was crowned with complete success. A number of 
historical figures were brought to light, and among them the 
undoubted likeness of Dante. He was represented in full 
length, in the garb of the time, with a book under his arm, 
designed most probably to represent the "Vita Nuova," for 
the "Comedia" was not yet composed, and to all appearance 
from thirty to thirty-five years of age. The face was in profile, 
and in excellent preservation, excepting that at some former 
period a nail had unfortunately been driven into the eye. The 
outline of the eyelid was perfect, so that the injury could 
easily be remedied. The countenance was- extremely hand- 
some, yet bore a strong resemblance to the portraits of the 
poet taken later in life. 

It is not easy to appreciate the delight of Mr. Wilde and his 
coadjutors at this triumphant result of their researches; nor 
the sensation produced, not merely in Florence but throughout 
Italy, by this discovery of a veritable portrait of Dante, in the 
prime of his days. It was some such sensation as would be 
produced in England by the sudden discovery of a perfectly 
well authenticated likeness of Shakespeare ; with a difference 
in intensity proportioned to the superior sensitiveness of the 
Italians. 

The recovery of this portrait of the "divine poet" has occa- 
sioned fresh inquiry into the origin of the masks said to have 
been made from a cast of his face taken after death. One of 
these masks, in the possession of the Marquess of Torrigiani, 
has been pronounced as certainly the original. Several artists 
of high talent have concurred in this opinion; among these 
maybe named Jesi, the first engraver in Florence; Seymour 
Kirkup, Esq., a painter and antiquary; and our own country- 
man Powers, whose genius, by the way, is very highly appre- 
ciated by the Italians. 

We may expect from the accomplished pen of Carlo Torrigi- 
ani, son of the Marquess, and who is advantageously known in 
this country, from having travelled here, an account of this 
curious and valuable relic, which has been upward of a century 
in the possession of his family. 

Should Mr. Wilde finish his biographical work concerning 
Dante, which promises to be a proud achievement in American 
literature, he intends, I understand, to apply for permission to 
have both likenesses copied, and should circumstances warrant 
the expense, to have them engraved by eminent artists. We 



106 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

shall then have the features of Dante while in the prime of life 
as well as at the moment of his death. G. C. 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. 

One of the most remarkable personages in Parisian society 
during the last century was Renee Charlotte Victoire de Frou- 
lay De Tesse, Marchioness De Crequi. She sprang from the 
highest and proudest of the old French nobility, and ever 
maintained the most exalted notions of the purity and anti- 
quity of blood, looking upon all families that could not date 
back further than three or four hundred years as mere up- 
starts. When a beautiful girl, fourteen years of age, she was 
presented to Louis XIV., at Versailles, and the ancient mon- 
arch kissed her hand with great gallantry ; after an interval of 
about eighty-five years, when nearly a hundred years old, the 
same testimonial of respect was paid her at the Tuileries by 
Bonaparte, then First Consul, who promised her the restitution 
of the ••nfiscated forests formerly belonging to her family. 
She was one of the most celebrated women of her time for in- 
tellectual graee and superiority, and bad the courage to remain 
at Paris and brave all the horrors of the revolution, which laid 
waste the aristocratical world around her. 

The memoirs she has left behind abound with curious anec- 
dotes and vivid pictures of Parisian lif e during the latter days 
of Louis XIV., the regency of the Duke of Orleans, and the 
residue of the last century ; and are highly illustrative of the 
pride, splendor, and licentiousness of the French nobility on 
the very eve of their tremendous downfall. 

I shall draw forth a few scenes from her memoirs, taken 
almost at random, and which, though given as actual and well- 
known circumstances, have quite the air of romance. 



All the great world of Paris were invited to be present at a 
grarid ceremonial, to take place in the church of the Abbey 
Royal of Panthemont. Henrietta de Lenoncour, a young girl, 
of a noble family, of great beauty, and heiress to immense 
estates, was to take the black veil. Invitations had been issued 
in grand form, by her aunt and guardian, the Countess Brigitte 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. 107 

de Rupelmonde, canoness of Mauberge. The circumstance 
caused great talk and wonder in the fashionable circles of 
Paris ; everybody was at a loss to imagine why a young girl, 
beautiful and rich, in the very springtime of her charms, 
should renounce a world which she was so eminently qualified 
to embellish and enjoy. 

A lady of high rank, who visited the beautiful novice at the 
grate of her convent-parlor, got a clue to the mystery. She 
found her in great agitation ; for a time she evidently repressed 
her feelings, but they at length broke forth in passionate ex- 
clamations. "Heaven grant me grace," said she, "someday 
or other to pardon my cousin Gondrecourt the sorrows he has 
caused me !" 

"What do you mean?— what sorrows, my child?" inquired 
her visitor. "What has your cousin done to affect you?" 

"He is married!" cried she in accents of despair, but endea- 
voring to repress her sobs. 

" Married! I have heard nothing of the kind, my dear. Are 
you perfectly sure of it?" 

"Alas! nothing is more certain; my aunt de Rupelmonde in- 
formed me of it." 

The lady retired, full of surprise and commiseration. She 
related the scene in a circle of the highest nobility, in the 
saloon of the Marshal Prince of Beauvau, where the unac- 
countable self-sacrifice of the beautiful novice was under 
discussion. 

"Alas!" said she, "the poor girl is crossed in love; she is 
about to renounce the world in despair, at the marriage of her 
cousin De Gondrecourt." 

"What!" cried a gentleman present, "the Viscount de 
Gondrecourt married! Never was there a greater falsehood. 
And ' her aunt told her so ! ' Oh ! I understand the plot. The 
countess is passionately fond of Gondrecourt, and jealous of 
her beautiful niece; but her schemes are vain ; the Viscount 
holds her in perfect detestation." 

There was a mingled expression of ridicule, disgust, and 
indignation at the thought of such a rivalry. The Countess 
Rupelmonde was old enough to be the grandmother of the 
Viscount. She was a woman of violent passions, and imperi- 
ous temper; robust in person, with a masculine voice, a dusky 
complexion, green eyes, and powerful eyebrows. 

" It is impossible," cried one of the company, " that a woman 
of the countess' age and appearance can be guilty of such 



108 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

folly. No, no ; you mistake the aim of this detestable woman. 
She is managing to get possession of the estate of her lovely 
niece." 

•This was admitted to be the most probable; and all concurred 
in believing the countess to be at the bottom of the intended 
sacrifice; for although a canoness, a dignitary of a religious 
order, she was pronounced little better than a devil incarnate. 

The Princess de Beauvau, a woman of generous spirit and 
intrepid zeal, suddenly rose from the chair in winch she had 
been reclining. " My prince," said she, addressing her hus- 
band, "if you approve of it, I will go immediately and have a 
conversation on this subject with the archbishop. There is, not 
a moment to spare. It is now past midnight ; the ceremony is 
to take place in the morning. A few hours and the irre vocable 
vows will be pronounced." 

The prince inclined his head in respectful assent. The 
princess set about her generous enterprise with a woman's 
promptness. Within a short time her carriage was at the iron 
gate of the archiepiscopal palace, and her servants rang for 
admission. Two Switzers, who had charge of the gate, were 
fast asleep in the porter's lodge, for it was half -past two in the 
morning. It was some time before they could be awakened, 
and longer before they could be made to come forth. 

" The Princess de Beauvau is at the gate!" 

Such a personage was not to be received in deshabille. Her 
dignity and the dignity of the archbishop demanded that the 
gate should be served in full costume. For half an hour, there- 
fore, had the princess to wait, in feverish impatience, until the 
two dignitaries of the porter's lodge arrayed themselves ; and 
three o'clock soimded from the tower of Notre Dame before 
they came forth. They were in grand livery, of a buff color, 
with amaranth galloons, plaited with silver, and fringed sword- 
belts reaching to their knees, in which were suspended long 
rapiers. They had small three-cornered hats, surmounted 
with plumes; and each bore in his hand a halbert. Thus 
equipped at all points, they planted themselves before the door 
of the carriage ; struck the ends of their halberts on the ground 
with emphasis; and stood waiting with official importance, 
but profound respect, to know the pleasure of the princess. 

She demanded to speak with the archbishop. A most rever- 
ential bow and shrug accompanied the reply, that " His Gran- 
deur was not at home. " 

Not at home! Where was he to be found? Another bow 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. 109 

and shrug: "His Grandeur either was, or ought to be, in 
retirement in the seminary of St. Magloire ; unless he had gone 
to pass the Fete of St. Bruno with the reverend Carthusian 
Fathers of the Rue d'Enf er ; or perhaps he might have gone to. 
repose himself in his castle of Conflans-sur-Seine. Though, on 
further thought, it was not unlikely he might have gone to 
sleep at St. Cyr, where ttoe Bishop of Chartres never failed 
to invite him for the anniversary soiree of Madame de Main- 
tenon. 

The princess was in despair at this multiplicity of cross- 
roads pointed out for the chase ; the brief interval of time was 
rapidly elapsing; day already began to dawn; she saw there 
was no hope of finding the archbishop before the moment of 
his entrance into the church for the morning's ceremonv ; so 
she returned kome quite distressed. 

At seven o'clock in the morning the princess was in the 
parlor of the monastery of De Panthemont, and sent in an 
urgent request for a moment's conversation with the Lady 
Abbess. The reply brought was, that the Abbess could not 
come to the parlor, being obliged to attend to the choir, at the 
canonical hours. The princess entreated permission to enter 
the convent, to reveal to the Lady Abbess in two words some- 
thing of the -greatest importance. The Abbess sent word in 
reply, that the thing was impossible, until she had obtained 
permission from the Archbishop of Paris. The princess 
retired once more to her carriage, and now, as a forlorn hope, 
took her station at the door of the church, to watch for the 
arrival of the prelate. 

After a while the splendid company invited to this great 
ceremony began to arrive. The beauty, rank, and wealth of 
the novice had excited great attention ; and, as everybody was 
expected to be present on the occasion, everybody pressed to 
secure a place. The street reverberated with the continual roll 
of gilded carriages and chariots ; coaches of princes and dukes, 
designated by imperials of crimson velvet, and magnificent 
equipages of six horses, decked out with nodding plumes and 
sumptuous harnessing. At length the equipages ceased to 
arrive ; empty vehicles filled the street ; and, with a noisy and 
parti-colored crowd of lacqueys in rich liveries, obstructed all 
the entrances to De Panthemont. 

Eleven o'clock had struck ; the last auditor had entered the 
church ; the deep tones of the organ began to swell through the 
sacred pile, yet still the archbishop came not! The heart of 



110 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

the princess beat quicker and quicker with vague apprehension ■ 
when a valet, dressed in cloth of silver, trhmmed with crimson 
velvet, approached her carriage precipitately. "Madame," 
said he, "the archbishop is in the church; he entered by the 
portal of the cloister; he is already in the sanctuary; the cere- 
mony is about to commence !" 

What was to be done? To speak with the archbishop was 
now impossible, and yet on the revelation she was to make 
to him depended the fate of the lovely novice. The princess 
drew forth her tablets of enamelled gold, wrote a few lines 
therein with a pencil, and ordered her lacquey to make way for 
her through the crowd, and conduct her with all speed to the 
sacristy. 

The description given of the church and the assemblage on 
this occasion presents an idea of the aristocratical state of the 
times, and of the high interest awakened by the affecting 
sacrifice about to take place. The church was hung with 
superb tapestry, above which extended a band of white damask, 
fringed with gold, and covered with armorial escutcheons. 
A large pennon, emblazoned with the arms and alliances of the 
high-born damsel, was suspended, according to custom, in 
place of the lamp of the sanctuary. The lustres, girandoles, 
and candelabras of the king had been furnished in profusion, 
to decorate the sacred edifice, and the pavements were all 
covered with rich carpets. 

The sanctuary presented a reverend and august assemblage 
of bishops, canons, and monks of various orders, Benedic- 
tines, Bernardines, Raccollets, Capuchins, and others, all in 
their appropriate robes and dresses. In the midst presided the 
Archbishop of Paris, Christopher de Beaumont ; surrounded by 
his four arch priests and his vicars-general. He was seated with 
his back against the altar. When his eyes were cast down, his 
countenance, pale and severe, is represented as having been 
somewhat sepulchral and death-like ; but the moment he raised 
his large, dark, sparkling eyes, the whole became animated; 
beaming with ardor, and expressive of energy, penetration, and 
firmness. 

The audience that crowded the church was no less illustrious. 
Excepting the royal family, all that was elevated in rank and 
title was there ; never had a ceremonial of the kind attracted 
an equal concourse of the high aristocracy of Paris. 

At length the grated gates of the choir creaked on their 
hinges, and Madame de Richelieu, the high and noble Abbess 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. \\\ 

of De Panthemont, advanced to resign the novice into the 
hands of her aunt, the Countess Canoness de Rupelmonde. 
Every eye was turned with intense curiosity to gain a sight of 
the beautiful victim. She was sumptuously dressed, but her 
paleness and languor accorded but little with her brilliant attire. 
The Canoness De Eupelmonde conducted her niece to her pray- 
ing-desk, where, as soon as the poor girl knelt down, she sank 
as if exhausted. Just then a sort of murmur was heard at the 
lower end of the church, where the servants in livery were 
gathered. A young man was borne forth, struggling in con- 
vulsions. He was in the uniform of an officer of the guards of 
King Stanislaus, Duke of Lorraine. A whisper circulated that 
it was the young Viscount de Gondrecourt, and that he was a 
lover of the novice. Almost all the young nobles present 
hurried forth to proffer him sympathy and assistance. 

The Archbishop of Paris remained all this time seated before 
the altar ; his eyes cast down, his pallid countenance giving no 
signs of interest or participation in the scene around him. It 
was noticed that in one of his hands, which was covered with 
a violet glove, he grasped firmly a pair of tablets, of enamelled 
gold. 

The Canoness De Rupelmonde conducted her niece to the 
prelate, to make her profession of self-devotion, and to utter 
the irrevocable vow. As the lovely novice knelt at his feet, 
the archbishop fixed on her his dark, beaming eyes, with a kind 
but earnest expression. "Sister!" said he, in the softest and 
meet benevolent tone of voice, "what is your age?" 

' '"Nineteen years, Monsigneur," eagerly interposed the Coun- 
tess de Rupelmonde. 

V You will reply to me by and bye, Madame," said the arch- 
bishop, dryly. He then repeated his question to the novice, 
who replied in a faltering voice, "Seventeen years." 

"In what diocese did you take the white veil?" 

"In the diocese of Toul." 

"How!" exclaimed the archbishop, vehemently. "In the 
diocese of Toul? The chair of Toul is vacant! The Bishop of 
Toul died fifteen months since ; and those who officiate in the 
chapter are not authorized to receive novices. Your noviciate, 
Mademoiselle, is null and void, and we cannot receive your 
profession." 

The archbishop rose from his chair, resumed his mitre, and 
took the crozier from the hands of an attendant. 

8 ' My dear brethren, " said he, addressing the assembly, ' ' there 



112 THE CRAYON PAPER8. 

is no necessity for our examining and interrogating Mademoi- 
selle de Lenoncour on the sincerity of her religfous vocation. 
There is a canonical impediment to her professing for the pres- 
ent; and, as to the future, we reserve to ourselves the con- 
sideration of the matter ; interdicting to all other ecclesiastical 
persons the power of accepting her vows, under penalty of in- 
terdiction, of suspension, and of nullification ; all which is in 
virtue of our metropolitan rights, contained in the terms of the 
bull cum proacimis:" "Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Do- 
mini!" pursued he, chanting in a grave and solemn voice, and 
turning toward the altar to give the benediction of the holy 
sacrament. 

The'noble auditory had that habitude of reserve, that empire, 
or rather tyranny, over all outward manifestations of internal 
emotions, which belongs to high aristocratical breeding. The 
declaration of the archbishop, therefore, was received as one 
of the most natural and ordinary things in the world, and all 
knelt down and received the pontifical benediction with perfect 
decorum. As soon, however, as they were released from the 
self-restraint imposed by etiquette, they amply indemnified 
themselves; and nothing was talked of for a month, in the 
fashionable saloons of Earis, but the loves of the handsome 
Viscount and the> charming Henrietta; the wickedness of the 
canoness ; the active benevolence and admirable address of the 
Princess de Beauvau ; and the great wisdom- of the archbishop, 
who was particularly extolled for his delicacy in defeating this 
manoeuvre without any scandal to the aristocracy, or public 
stigma on the name of Do Eupelmonde, and without any de- 
parture from pastoral gentleness, by adroitly seizing upon an 
informant y, and turning it to beneficial account, with as much 
authority as charitable circumspection. 

As to the Canoness de Rupelmonde, she was defeated at all 
points in her wicked plans against her beautiful niece. In 
consequence of the caveat of the archishop, her superior 
ecclesiastic, the Abbess de Panthemont, formally forbade Ma- 
demoiselle de Lenoncour to resume the white veil and the dress 
of a noviciate, and instead of a novice's cell, established her in 
a beautiful apartment as a boarder. The next morning the 
Canoness de Rupelmonde called at the convent to take away 
her niece ; but, to her confusion, the abbess produced a lettre- 
de-cachet, which she had just received, and which forbade 
Mademoiselle to leave the convent with any other person save 
the Prince de Beauvau. 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. 113 

Under the auspices and the vigilant attention of the prince, 
the whole affair was wound up in the most technical and cir- 
cumstantial manner. The Countess de Eupelmonde, by a 
decree of the Grand Council, was divested of the guardianship 
of her niece. All the arrears of revenues accumulated during 
Mademoiselle de Lenoncour's minority were rigorously col- 
lected, the accounts scrutinized and adjusted, and her noble 
fortune placed safely and entirely in her hands. 

In a little while the noble personages who had been invited 
to the ceremony of taking the veil received another invitation, 
on the part of the Countess dowager de Gondrecourt, and the 
Marshal Prince de Beauvau, to attend the marriage of Adrien 
de Gondrecourt, Viscount of Jean-sur-Moselle, and Henrietta 
de Lenoncour, Countess de Hevouwal, etc., which duly took 
place in the chapel of the archiepiscopal palace at Paris. 



So much for the beautiful Henrietta de Lenoncour. We will 
now draw forth a companion picture of a handsome young 
cavalier, who figured in the gay world of Paris about the same 
time, and concerning whom the ancient Marchioness writes 
with the lingering feeling of youthful romance. 

THE CHARMING LETORIERES. 

"A good face is a letter of recommendation," says an old 
proverb ; and it was never more verified than in the case of 
the Chevalier Letorieres. He was a young gentleman of good 
family, but who, according to the Spanish phrase, had nothing 
but his cloak and sword (capa y espada), that is to say, his 
gentle blood and gallant bearing, to help him forward in the 
world. Through the interest of an uncle, who was an abbe, he 
received a gratuitous education at a fashionable college, but 
finding the terms of study too long, and the vacations too 
short, for his gay and indolent temper, he left college without 
saying a word, and launched himself upon Paris, with a light 
heart and still lighter pocket. Here he led a lif e to his humor. 
It is true he had to make scanty meals, and to lodge in a garret ; 
but what of that? He was his own master; free from all task 
or restraint. When cold or hungry, he sallied forth, like 
others of the chameleon order, and banqueted on pure air and 
warm sunshine in the public walks and gardens ; drove off the 
thoughts of a dinner by amusing himself with the gay and gro- 



114 THE CRAYON PAPEH& 

tesque throngs of the metropolis ; and if one of the poorest, was 
one of the merriest gentlemen upon town. Wherever he went 
his good looks and frank, graceful demeanor, had an instant 
and magical effect in securing favor. There was but one 
word to express his fascinating powers — he was "charm- 
ing." 

Instances are given of the effect of his winning qualities upon 
minds of coarse, ordinary mould. He had once taken shelter 
from a heavy shower under a gateway. A hackney coachman, 
who was passing by, pulled up, and asked him if he wished a 
cast in his carriage. Letorieres declined, with a melancholy 
and dubious shake of the head. The coachman regarded him 
wistfully, repeated his solicitations, and wished to know what 
place he was going to. "To the Palace of Justice, to walk in 
the galleries; but I will wait here until the rain is over." 

"And why so?" inquired the- coachman, pertinaciously. 

" Because I've no money; do let me be quiet." 

The coachman jumped down, and opening the door of his 
carriage, "It shall never be said," cried he, "that I left so 
•harming a young gentleman to weary himself, and catch 
cold, merely for the sake of twenty -four sous." 

Arrived at the Palace of Justice, he stopped before the saloon 
of a famous restaurateur, opened the door of the carriage, 
and taking off his hat very respectfully, begged the youth to 
accept of a Louis-d'or. "You will meet with some young gen- 
tlemen within," said he, "with whom you may wish to take a 
hand at cards. The number of my coach is 144. You can find 
me out, and repay me whenever you please." 

The worthy Jehu was some years afterward made coachman 
to the Princess Sophia, of France, through the recon-vmenda- 
tion of the handsome youth he had so generously obliged. 

Another instance in point is given with respect to his tailor, to 
whom he owed four hundred livres. The tailor had repeatedly 
dunned him, but was always put off with the best grace in the 
world. The wife of the tailor urged her husband to assume a 
harsher tone. He replied that he could not find it in his heart 
to speak roughly to so charming a young gentleman. 

" I've no patience with such want of spirit!" cried the wife: 
" you have not the courage to show your teeth: but I'm going 
out to get change for this note of a hundred crowns ; before I 
come home, I'll seek this ' charming ' youth myself, and see 
whether he has the power to charm me. I'll warrant he 
won't be able to put me off with fine looks and fine speeches," 



THE TAKING OF THE VEIL. 115 

With those and many more vaunts, the good dame sallied 
forth. When she returned home, however, she wore quite a 
different aspect. 

''Well," said her husband, "how much have you received 
from the ' charming ' young man?" 

" Let me alone," replied the wife ; " I found him playing on 
the guitar, and he looked so handsome, and was so amiable 
and genteel, that I had not the heart to trouble him." 

"And the change for the hundred-crown note?" said the 
tailor. 

The wife hesitated a moment: "Faith," cried sJbe, "you'll 
have to add the amount to your next bill against him. The 
poor young gentleman had such a melancholy air, that— I know 
not how it was, but —I left the hundred crowns on his mantel- 
piece in spite of him !" 

The captivating looks and manners of Letorieres made his 
way with equal facility in the great world. His high connec- 
tions entitled him to presentation at court, but some questions 
arose about the sufficiency of his proofs of nobility ; whereupon 
the king, who had seen him walking in the gardens of Ver- 
sailles, and had been charmed with his appearance, put an end 
to all demurs of etiquette by making him a viscount. 

The same kind of fascination is said to have attended him 
throughout his career. He succeeded in various difficult fam- 
ily suits on questions of honors and privileges : he had merely 
to appear in court to dispose the judges in his favor. He at 
length became so popular, that on one occasion, when he 
appeared at the theatre on recovering from a wound received 
in a duel, the audience applauded him on his entrance. Noth- 
ing, it is said, could have been in more perfect good taste and 
high breeding than his conduct on this occasion. When he 
heard the applause, he rose in his box, stepped forward, and 
surveyed both sides of the house, as if he could not believe 
that it was himself they were treating like a favorite actor, or 
a prince of the blood. 

His success with the fair sex may easily be presumed ; but 
he had too much honor and sensibility to render his inter- 
course with them a series of cold gallantries and heartless tri- 
umphs. In the course of his attendance upon court, where he 
held a post of honor about the king, he fell deeply in love with 
the beautiful Princess Julia, of Savoy Carignan. She was 
young, tender, and simple-hearted, and returned his love with 
equal fervor. Her family took the alarm at this attachment, 



116 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

and procured an order that she should inhabit the Abbey of 
Montmartre, where she was treated with all befitting delicacy 
and distinction, but not permitted to go beyond the convent 
walls. The lovers found means to correspond. One of their 
letters was intercepted, and it is even hinted that a plan of 
elopement was discovered. A duel was the consequence, with 
one of the fiery relations of the princess. Letorieres received 
two sword-thrusts in his right side. His wounds were serious, 
yet after two or three days' confinement he could not resist his 
impatience to see the princess. He succeeded in scaling the 
walls of the abbey, and obtaining an interview in an arcade 
leading to the cloister of the cemetery. The interview of the 
lovers was long and tender. They exchanged vows of eternal 
fidelity, and flattered themselves with hopes of future happi- 
ness, which they were never to realize. After repeated fare- 
wells, the princess re-entered the convent, never again to 
behold the charming Letorieres. On the following morning 
his corpse was found stiff and cold on the pavement of the 
cloister ! 

It would seem that the wounds of the unfortunate youth had 
been reopened by his efforts to get over the wall ; that he had 
refrained from calling assistance, lest he should expose the 
princess, and that he had bled to death, without any one to aid 
him, or to close his dying eyes. 



THE EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD.* 

NOTED DOWN FROM HIS CONVERSATIONS. 

u I am a Kentuckian by residence and choice, but a Virginian 
by birth. The cause of my first leaving the ' Ancient Domin- 
ion,' and emigrating to Kentucky, was' a jackass! You stare, 
but have a little patience, and I'll soon show you how it came 
to pass. My father, who was of one of the old Virginian 
families, resided in Richmond. He was a widower, and his 

* Ralph Ringwood, though a fictitious name, is a real personage: the worthy 
original is now living and flourishing in honorable station. I have given some 
anecdotes of his early and eccentric career in. as nearly as lean recollect, the very 
words in which he related them. They certainly afforded strong temptations to 
the embellishments of fiction; but I thought them so strikingly characteristic of the 
individual, and of the scenes and society into which- his peculiar humors carried 
him, that I pi ef erred giving them in their original simplicity.— G. C. 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 117 

domestic affairs were managed by a housekeeper of the old 
school, such as used to administer the concerns of opulent Vir- 
ginian households. She was a dignitary that almost rivalled 
my father in importance, and seemed to think everything be- 
longed to her ; in fact, she was so considerate in her economy, 
and so careful of expense, as sometimes to vex my father, who 
would swear she was disgracing him by her meanness. She 
always appeared with that ancient insignia of housekeeping 
trust and authority, a great bunch of keys jingling at her 
girdle. She superintended the arrangements of the table at 
every meal, and saw that the dishes were all placed according 
to her primitive notions of symmetry. In the evening she 
took her stand and served out tea with a mingled respectful- 
ness and pride of station, truly exemplary. Her great 
ambition was to have everything in order, and that the estab- 
lishment under her sway should be cited as a model of good 
housekeeping. If anything went wrong, poor old Barbara, 
would take it to heart, and sit in her room and cry ; until a 
few chapters in the Bible would quiet her spirits, and* make all 
calm again. The Bible, in fact, was her constant resort in time 
of trouble. She opened it indiscriminately, and whether she 
chanced among the lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canticles of 
Solomon, or the rough enumeration of the tribes in Deuter- 
onomy, a chapter was a chapter, and operated like balm to her 
soul. Such was our good old housekeeper Barbara, who was 
destined, unwittingly, to have a most important effect upon 
my destiny. 

"It came to pass, during the days of my juvenility, while I 
was yet what is termed ' an unlucky boy,' that a gentleman of 
our neighborhood, a great advocate for experiments and im- 
provements of all kinds, took it into his head that it would be 
an immense public advantage to introduce a breed of mules, 
and accordingly imported three jacks to stock the neighbor- 
hood. This in a part of the country where the people cared 
for nothing but blood horses ! Why, sir ! they would have con- 
sidered their mares disgraced and their whole stud dishonored 
by such a misalliance. The whole matter was a town talk and 
a town scandal. The worthy amalgamator of quadrupeds 
found himself in a dismal scrape; so he backed out in time, 
abjured the whole doctrine of amalgamation, and turned his 
jacks loose to shift for themselves upon the town common. 
There they used to run about and lead an idle, good-for- 
nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals in the country. 



\\S THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

"It so happened that my way to school lay across this 
common. The first time that I saw one of these animals it set 
up a braying and frightened me confoundedly. However, I 
soon got over my fright, and seeing that it had something of 
a horse look, my Virginian love for anything of the equestrian 
species predominated, and I determined to back it. I accord- 
ingly applied at a grocer's shop, procured a cord that had been 
round a loaf of sugar, and made a kind of halter ; then sum- 
moning some of my school-fellows, we drove master Jack 
about the common until we hemmed him in an angle of a 
'worm fence.' After some difficulty, we fixed the halter 
round his muzzle, and I mounted. Up flew his heels, away I 
went over his head, and off he scampered. However, I was on 
my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, caught him, and remounted. 
By dint of repeated tumbles I soon learned to stick to his back, 
so that he could no more cast me than he could his own skin. 
From that time, master Jack and his companions had a scam- 
pering life of it, for we all rode them between school hours, 
and on holiday afternoons ; and you may be sure school-boys' 
nags are never permitted to suffer the grass to grow under 
their feet. They soon became so knowing that they took to 
their heels at the very sight of a school-boy; and we were 
generally much longer in chasing than we were in riding them. 

"Sunday approached, on which I projected an equestrian 
excursion on one of these long-eared steeds. As I knew the 
jacks would be in great demand on Sunday morning, I secured 
one over night, and conducted him home, to be ready for an 
early outset. But where was I to quarter him for the night? 
I could not put him in the stable ; our old black groom George 
was as absolute in that domain as Barbara was within doors, 
and would have thought his stable, his horses, and himself dis- 
graced, by the introduction of a jackass. I recollected the 
smoke-house ; an out-building appended to all Virginian estab- 
lishments for the smoking of hams, and other kinds of meat. 
So I got the key, put master Jack in, locked the door, returned 
the key to its place, and went to bed, intending to release my 
prisoner at an early hour, before any of the family were awake. 
I was so tired, however, by the exertions I had made in catch- 
ing the donkey, that I fell into a sound sleep, and the morning 
broke without my awaking. 

" Not so with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. As usual, to 
use her own phrase, ■ she was up before the crow put his shoes 
on,' and bustled about to get things in order for breakfast. 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. IjQ 

Her first resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce had she 
opened the door, when master Jack, tired of his confinement, 
and glad to be released from darkness, gave a loud bray, and 
rushed forth. Down dropped old Barbara ; the animal tram- 
pled over her, and made off for the common. Poor Barbara ! 
She had never before seen a donkey, and having read in the 
Bible that the devil went about like a roaring lion, seeking 
whom he might devour, she took it for granted that this was 
Beelzebub himself. The kitchen was soon in a hubbub ; the 
servants hurried to the spot. There lay old Barbara in fits ; 
as fast as she got out of one, the thoughts of the devil came 
over her, and she fell into another, for the good soul was 
devoutly superstitious. 

"As ill luck would have it, among those attracted by the 
noise was a little, cursed, fidgety, crabbed uncle of mine ; one 
of those uneasy spirits that cannot rest quietly in their beds in 
the morning, but must be up early, to bother the household. 
He was only a kind of half -uncle, after all, for he had married 
my father's sister; yet he assumed great authority on the 
strength of this left-handed relationship, and was a universal 
intermeddler and family pest. This prying little busydody 
soon ferreted out the truth of the story, and discovered, by 
hook and by crook, that I was at the bottom of the affair, and 
had locked up the donkey in the smoke-house. He stopped to 
inquire no further, for he was one of those testy curmudgeons 
with whom unlucky boys are always in the wrong. Leaving 
old Barbara to wrestle in imagination with the devil, he made 
for my bed-chamber, where I still lay wrapped in rosy slum- 
bers, little dreaming of the mischief I had done, and the storm 
about to break over me. 

" In an instant I was awakened by a shower of thwacks, and 
started up in wild amazement. I demanded the meaning of 
this attack, but received no other reply than that I had 
murdered the housekeeper ; while my uncle continued whack- 
ing away during my confusion. I seized a poker, and put 
myself on the defensive. I was a stout boy for my years, 
while my uncle was a little wiff et of a man ; one that in Ken- 
tucky we would not call even an ' individual ; ' nothing more 
than a 'remote circumstance.' I soon, therefore, brought him 
to a parley, and learned the whole extent of the charge brought 
against me. I confessed to the donkey and the smoke-house, 
but pleaded not guilty of the murder of the housekeeper. I 
soon found out that old Barbara was still alive. She con- 



120 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

tinued under the doctor's hands, however, for several days; 
and whenever she had an ill turn my uncle would seek to give 
me another flogging. I appealed to my father, but got no 
redress. I was considered an 'unlucky boy,' prone to all 
kinds of mischief; so that prepossessions were against me in 
all cases of appeal. 

U I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had been beaten, 
degraded, and treated with slighting when I complained. I 
lost my usual good spirits and good humor ; and, being out of 
temper with everybody, fancied everybody out of temper with 
me. A certain wild, roving spirit of freedom, which I believe 
is as inherent in me as it is in the partridge, was brought into 
sudden activity by the checks and restraints I suffered. ' I'll 
go from home,' thought I, 'and shift for myself.' Perhaps 
this notion was quickened by the rage for emigrating to Ken- 
tucky, which was at that time prevalent in Virginia. I had 
heard such stories of the romantic beauties of the country ; of 
the abundance of game of all" kinds, and of the glorious inde- 
pendent life of the hunters who ranged its noble forests, and 
lived by the rifle ; that I was as much agog to get there as boys 
who live in sea-ports are to launch themselves among the won- 
ders and adventures of the ocean. 

m "After a time old Barbara got better in mind and body, and 
matters were explained to her; and she became gradually con- 
vinced that it was not the devil she had encountered. When 
she heard how harshly I had been treated on her account, the 
good old soul was extremely grieved, and spoke warmly to my 
father in my behalf. He had himself remarked the change 
in my behavior, and thought punishment might have been 
carried too far. He sought, therefore, to have some conversa- 
tion with me, and to soothe my feelings; but it was too late. 
I frankly told him the course of mortification that I had ex- 
perienced, and the fixed determination I had made to go from 
home. 

" ' And where do you mean to go? ' 

"' To Kentucky.' 

" ' To Kentucky! Why, you know nobody there.' 

'"No matter: I can soon make acquaintances.' 

" ' And what will you do when you get there?' 

"'Hunt!' 

" My father gave a long, low whistle, and looked in my face 
with a serio-comic expression. I was not far in my teens, and 
to talk of setting off alone for Kentucky, to turn hunter, 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 121 

seemed doubtless the idle prattle of a boy. He was little 
aware of the dogged resolution of my character; and his 
smile of incredulity but fixed me more obstinately in my pur- 
pose. I assured him I was serious in what I said, and would 
certainly set off for Kentucky in the spring. 

"Month after month passed away. My father now and then 
adverted slightly to what had passed between us; doubtless 
for the purpose of sounding me. I always expressed the same 
grave and fixed determination. By degrees he spoke to me 
more directly on the subject, endeavoring earnestly but kindly 
to dissuade me. My* only reply was, ' I had made up my mind.' 

"Accordingly, as soon as the spring had fairly opened, I 
sought him one day in his study, and informed him I was 
about to set out for Kentucky, and had come to take my 
leave. He made no objection, for he had exhausted persua- 
sion and remonstrance, and doubtless thought it best to give 
way to my humor, trusting that a little rough experience 
would soon bring me home again. I asked money for my 
journey. He went to a chest, took out a long green silk purse, 
well filled, and laid it on the table. I now asked for a horse 
and servant. 

"'A horse!' said my father, sneeringly: 'why, you would 
not go a mile without racing him, and breaking your neck ; 
and as to a servant, you cannot take care of yourself, much 
less of him.' 

" ' How am I to travel, then? ' 

" ' Why, I suppose you are man enough to travel on foot.' 
. " He spoke jestingly, little thinking I would take him at his 
word ; out I was thoroughly piqued in respect to my enter- 
prise ; so I pocketed the purse, went to my room, tied up three 
or four shirts in a pocket-handkerchief, put a dirk in my 
bosom, girt a couple of pistols round my waist, and felt like 
a knight-errant armed cap-a-pie, and ready to rove the world 
in quest of adventures. 

"My sister (I had 'but one) hung round me and wept, and 
entreated me to stay. I felt my heart swell in my throat ; but 
I gulped it back to its place, and straightened myself up: I 
would not suffer myself to cry. I at length disengaged my- 
self from her, and got to the door. 
*" ' When will you come back? ' cried she. 

" ' Never, by heavens ! ' cried I, ' until I come back a member 
of Congress from Kentucky. I am determined to show that I 
am not the tail-end of the family, ' 



122 TUB CRAYON PAPERS. 

"Such was my first outset from home. You may suppose 
what a greenhorn I was, and how little I knew of the world I 
was launching into. 

"I do not recollect any incident of importance, until I 
reached the borders of Pennsylvania. I had stopped at an inn 
bo get some refreshment ; and as I was eating in the back room, 
I overheard two men in the bar-room conjecture who and what 
I could be. One determined, at length, that I was a run-away 
apprentice, and ought to be stopped, to which the other as- 
sented. When I had finished my meal, and paid for it, I went 
out at the back door, lest I should be stopped by my super- 
visors. Scorning, however, to steal off like a culprit, I walked 
round to the front of the house. One of the men advanced to 
the front door. He wore his hat on one side, and had a conse- 
quential air that nettled me. 

" ' Where are you going, youngster? ' demanded he. 

! ' ' That's none of your business ! ' replied I, rather pertly. 

" ' Yes, but it is, though! You have run away from home, 
and must give an account of yourself.' 

" He advanced to seize me, when I drew forth a pistol. ' If 
you advance another step, I'll shoot you ! ' 

" He sprang back as if he had trodden upon a rattlesnake, 
and his hat fell off in the movement. 

" ' Let him alone ! ' cried his companion ; * he's a foolish, mad- 
headed boy, and don't know what he's about. He'll shoot you, 
you may rely on it.' 

" He did not need any caution in the matter; he was afraid 
even to pick up his hat: so I pushed forward on my way, 
without molestation. This incident, however, had its effect 
upon me. I became fearful of sleeping in any house at night, 
lest I should be stopped. I took my meals in the houses, in the 
course of the day, but would turn aside at night into some 
wood or ravine, make a fire, and sleep before it. This I con- 
sidered was true hunter's style, and I wished to inure myself 
to it. 

" At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg- weary and way- 
worn, and in a shabby plight, as you may suppose, having been 
1 camping out ' for some nights past. I applied at some of the 
inferior inns, but could gain no admission. I was regarded for 
a moment with a dubious eye, and then informed they did not 
receive foot-passengers. At last I went boldly to the principal 
inn. The landlord appeared as unwilling as the rest to receive. 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OP RALPH RING WOOD. 123 

a vagrant boy beneath his roof; but his wife interfered in the 
midst of his excuses, and half elbowing him aside : 

" 'Where are you going, my lad? ' said she. 

" 'To Kentucky.' 

" ' What are you going there for? ' 

'"To hunt.' 

" She looked earnestly at me for a moment or two. * Have 
you a mother living? ' said she at length. 

" ' No, madam: she has been dead for some time.' 

" ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. ' I knew if you had a 
mother living, you would not be here. ' From that moment'the 
good woman treated me with a mother's kindness. 

" I remained several days beneath her roof, recovering from 
the fatigue of my journey. While here I purchased a rifle and 
practised daily at a mark to prepare myself for a hunter's life. 
When sufficiently recruited in strength I took leave of my 
kind host and hostess and resumed my journey. 

"At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed family boat, 
technically called a broad-horn, a prime river conveyance in 
those days. In this ark for two weeks I floated down the 
Ohio. The river was as yet in all its wild beauty. Its loftiest 
trees had not been thinned out. The forest overhung the 
water's edge, and was occasionally skirted by immense cane- 
brakes. Wild animals of all kinds abounded. We heard them 
rushing through the thickets and plashing in the water. Deer 
and bears would frequently swim across the river; others 
would come down to the bank and gaze at the boat as it passed. 
I was incessantly on the alert with my rifle ; but somehow or 
other the game was never within shot. Sometimes I got a 
chance to land and try my skill on shore. I shot squirrels and 
small birds and even wild turkeys; but though I caught 
glimpses of deer bounding away through the woods, I never 
could get a fair shot at them. 

"In this way we glided in our broad-horn past Cincinnati, 
the ' Queen of the West,' as she is now called, then a mere 
group of log cabins ; and the site of the bustling city of Louis- 
ville, then designated by a solitary house. As I said before, 
the Ohio was as yet a wild river ; all was forest, forest, forest ! 
Near the confluence of Green River with the Ohio, I landed, 
bade adieu to the broad-horn, and struck for the interior of 
Kentucky. I had no precise plan ; my only idea was to make 
for one of the wildest parts of the country. I had relatives in 
Lexington and other settled places, to whom I thought it prob- 



124 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

able ray father would write concerning me : so as I was full of 
manhood and independence, and resolutely bent on making 
my way in the world without assistance or control, I resolved 
to keep clear of them all. 

' ' In the course of my first day's trudge, I shot a wild turkey, 
and slung it on my back for provisions. The forest was open 
and clear from underwood. I saw deer in abundance, but 
always running, running. It seemed to me as if these animals 
never stood still. 

" At length I came to where a gang of half -starved wolves 
were feasting on the carcass of a deer winch they had run 
down; and snarling and snapping and fighting like so many 
dogs. They were all so ravenous and intent "upon their prey 
that they did not notice me, and I had time to make my obser- 
vations. One, larger and fiercer than the rest, seemed to claim 
the larger share, and to keep the others in awe. If any one 
came too near him while eating, he would fly off, seize and 
shake him, and then return to his repast. 'This,' thought I, 
' must be the captain ; if I can kill him, I shall defeat the whole 
army.' I accordingly took aim, fired, and down dropped the 
old fellow. He might be only shamming dead ; so I loaded and 
put a second ball through him. He never budged ; all the rest 
ran off, and my victory was complete. 

" It would not be easy to describe my triumphant feelings 
on this great achievement. I marched on with renovated 
spirit, regarding myself as absolute lord of the forest. As 
night drew near, I prepared for camping. My first care was to 
collect dry wood and make a roaring fire to cook and sleep by, 
and to frighten off wolves, and bears, and panthers. I then 
began to pluck my turkey for supper. I had camped out 
several times in the early part of my expedition ; but that was 
in comparatively more settled and civilized regions, where 
there were no wild animals of consequence in the forest. This 
was my first camping out in the real wilderness ; and I was 
soon made sensible of the loneliness and wildness of my situa- 
tion. 

"In a little while a concert of wolves commenced: there 
might have been a dozen or two, but it seemed to me as if there 
were thousands. I never heard such howling and whining. 
Having prepared my turkey, I divided it into two parts, thrust 
two sticks into one of the halves, and planted them on end 
before the fire, the hunter's mode of roasting. The smell of 
roast meat quickened the appetites of the wolves, and their 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 125 

concert became truly infernal. They seemed to be all around 
me, but I could only now and then get a glimpse of one of 
them, as he came within the glare of the light. 

"I did not much care for the wolves, who I knew to be a 
cowardly race, but I had heard terrible stories of panthers, 
and began to fear their stealthy prowlings in the surrounding 
darkness. I was thirsty, and heard a brook bubbling and 
tinkling along at no great distance, but absolutely dared not go 
there, lest some panther might he in wait, and spring upon me. 
By and by a deer whistled. I had never heard one before, and 
thought it must be a panther. I now felt uneasy lest he might 
climb the trees, crawl along the branches overhead, and plump 
down upon me ; so I kept my eyes fixed on the branches, until 
my head ached. I more than once thought I saw fiery eyes 
glaring down from among the leaves. At length I thought of 
my supper and turned to see if my. half -turkey was cooked. 
In crowding so near the fire I had pressed the meat into the 
flames, and it was consumed. I had nothing to do but toast 
the other half, and take better care of it. On that half I made 
my supper, without salt or bread. I was still so possessed 
with the dread of panthers, that I could not close my eyes all 
night, but lay watching the trees until daybreak, when all my 
fears were dispelled with the darkness ; and as I saw the morn- 
ing sun sparkling down through the branches of the trees, I 
smiled to think how I had suffered myself to be dismayed by 
sounds and shadows: but I was a young woodsman, and a 
stranger in Kentucky. 

"Having breakfasted on the remainder of my turkey, and 
slaked my thirst at the bubbling stream, without further dread 
of panthers, I resumed my wayfaring with buoyant feelings. 
I again saw deer, but as usual running, running! I tried in 
vain to get a shot at them, and began to fear I never should. 
I was gazing in vexation after a herd in full scamper, when I 
was startled by a human voice. Turning round, I saw a man 
at a short distance from me, in a hunting-dress. 

" 'What are you after, my lad?' cried he. 

" 'Those deer,' replied I, pettishly; 'but it seems as if they 
never stand still.' 

"Upon that he burst out laughing. ' Where are you from? ' 
said he. 

" ' From Richmond.' 

" ' What ! In old Virginny ? » 

"'The same.' 



126 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

" J And how on earth did you get here ? ' 

" 'I landed at Green Eiver from a broad-horn.* 

" 'And where are your companions?' 

"'I have none.' 

'"What?— all alone!' 

"'Yes.' 

" 'Where are you going?' 

" 'Anywhere.' 

" ' And what have you come here for ? ' 

'"To hunt.' 

"'Well,' said he, laughingly, 'you'll make a real hunter; 
there's no mistaking that ! Have you killed anything? ' 

" 'Nothing but a turkey; I can't get within shot of a deer: 
they are always running.' 

" ' Oh, I'll tell you the secret of that. You're always pushing 
forward, and starting the deer at a distance, and gazing at 
those that are scampering; but you must step as slow, and 
silent, and cautious as a cat, and keep your eyes close around 
you, and lurk from tree to tree, if you wish to get a chance at 
deer. But come, go home with me. My name is Bill Smithers ; 
I live not far off: stay with me a little while, and I'll teach you 
how to hunt.' 

"I gladly accepted the invitation of honest Bill Smithers. 
We soon reached his habitation ; a mere log hut, with a square 
hole for a window, and a chimney made" of sticks and clay. 
Here he lived, with a wife and child. He had ' girdled ' the 
trees for an acre or two around, preparatory to clearing a 
space for corn and potatoes. In the mean time he maintained 
his family entirely by his rifle, and I soon found him to be a 
first-rate huntsman. Under his tutelage I received my first 
effective lessons in 'woodcraft.' 

"The more I knew of a hunter's life, the more I relished it. 
The country, too, which had been the promised land of my 
boyhood, did not, like most promised lands, disappoint me. 
No wilderness could be more beautiful than this part of Ken- 
tucky, in those times. The forests were open and spacious, 
with noble trees, some of which looked as if they had stood for 
centuries. There were beautiful prairies, too, diversified with 
groves and clumps of trees, which looked like vast parks, 
and in which you could see the deer running, at a great dis- 
tance. In the proper season these prairies would be covered 
in many places with wild strawberries, where your horse's 
hoofs would be dyed to the fetlock. I thought there could not 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH JUNG WOOD. 327 

be another place in the world equal to Kentucky— and I think 
so still. 

" After I had passed ten or twelve days with Bill Smithers, 
I thought it time to shift my quarters, for his house was 
scarce large enough for his own family, and I had no idea of 
being an incumbrance to any one. I accordingly made up my 
bundle, shouldered my rifle, took a friendly leave of Smithers 
and his wife, and set out in quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, 
one John Miller, wno lived alone, nearly forty miles off, and 
who I hoped would be well pleased to have a hunting com- 
panion. 

"I soon found out that one of the most important items in 
woodcraft in a new country was the skill to find one's way in 
the wilderness. There were no regular roads in the forests, 
but they were cut up and perplexed by paths leading in all 
directions. Some of these were made by the cattle of the 'set- 
tlers, and were called 'stock-tracks,' but others had been made 
by the immense droves of buffaloes which roamed about the 
country, from the flood until recent times. These were called 
buffalo-tracks, and traversed Kentucky from end to end, like 
highways. Traces of them may still be seen in uncultivated 
parts, or deeply worn in the rocks where they crossed the 
mountains. I was a young woodsman, and sorely puzzled to 
distinguish one kind of track from the other, or to make out 
my course through this tangled labyrinth. While thus per- 
plexed, I heard a distant roaring and rushing sound ; a gloom 
stole over the forest : on looking up, when I could catch a stray 
glimpse of the sky, I beheld the clouds rolled up like balls, the 
lower parts as black as ink. There was now and then an ex- 
plosion, like a burst of cannonry afar off, and the crash of a 
falling tree. I had heard of hurricanes in the woods, and sur- 
mised that one was at hand. It soon came crashing its way ; 
the forest writhing, and trwisting, and groaning before it. The 
hurricane did not extend far on either side, but in a manner 
ploughed a furrow through the woodland ; snapping off or up- 
rooting trees that had stood for centuries, and filling the air 
with whirling branches. I was directly in its course, and took 
my stand behind an immense poplar, six feet in diameter. It 
bore for a time the full fury of the blast, but at length began 
to yield. Seeing it falling, I scrambled nimbly round the 
trunk like a squirrel. Down it went, bearing down another 
tree with it. I crept under the trunk as a shelter, and was 
protected from other trees which fell around me, but was sore 



|28 THE CliAYON PAPERS. 

all over from the twigs and branches driven against me by the 
blast. 

"This was the only incident of consequence that occurred 
on my way to John Miller's, where I arrived on the following 
day, and was received by the veteran with the rough kindness 
of a backwoodsman. He was a gray -haired man, hardy and 
weather-beaten, with a blue wart, like a great bead, over one 
eye, whence he was nicknamed by the hunters 'Blue-bead 
Miller.' He had been in these parts fron% the earliest settle- 
ments, and had signalized himself in the hard conflicts with 
the Indians, which gained Kentucky the appellation of ' the 
Bloody Ground.' In one of these fights he had had an arm 
broken ; in another he had narrowly escaped, when hotly pur- 
sued, by jumping from a precipice thirty feet high into a river. 

''Miller willingly received me into his house as an inmate, 
an(\ seemed pleased with the idea of making a hunter of me. 
His dwelling was a small log-house, with a loft or garret of 
boards, so that there was ample room for both of us. Under 
his instruction I soon made a tolerable proficiency in hunting. 
My first exploit, of any consequence, was killing a bear. I 
was hunting in company with two brothers, when we came 
upon the track of Bruin, in a wood where there was an under- 
growth of canes and grape-vines. He was scrambling up a 
tree, when I shot him through the breast : he fell to the ground 
and lay motionless. The brothers sent in their dog, who seized 
the bear by the throat. Bruin raised one arm, and gave the 
dog a hug that crushed his ribs. One yell, and all was over. 
I don't know which was first dead, the dog or the bear. The 
two brothers sat down and cried like children over their un- 
fortunate dog. Yet they were mere rough huntsmen, almost 
as wild and untameable as Indians : but they were fine fellows. 

"By degrees I became known, and somewhat of a favorite 
among the hunters of the neighborhood ; that is to say, men 
who lived within a circle of thirty or forty miles, and came 
occasionally to see John Miller, who was a patriarch among 
them. They lived widely apart, in log huts and wigwams, 
almost with the simplicity of Indians, and well-nigh as desti- 
tute of the comforts and inventions of civilized life. They 
seldom saw each other ; weeks, and even months would elapse, 
without their visiting. When they did meet, it was very 
much after the manner of Indians; loitering about all day, 
Avithout having much to say, but becoming communicative as 
evening advanced, and sitting up half the night before the fire, 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 129 

telling hunting stories, and terrible tales of the lights of the 
Bloody Ground. 

"Sometimes several would join in a distant hunting expedi- 
tion, or rather campaign. Expeditions of this kind lasted from 
November until April ; during which we laid up our stock of 
summer provisions. We shifted our hunting camps from 
place to place, according as we found the game. They were 
generally pitched near a run of water, and close by a cane-brake, 
to screen us from the wind. One side of our lodge was open 
toward the fire. Our horses were hoppled and turned loose in 
the cane-brakes, with bells round their necks. One of the 
party stayed at home to watch the camp, prepare the meals, 
and keep off the wolves ; the others hunted. When a hunter 
killed a deer at a distance from the camp, he would open it and 
take out the entrails ; then climbing a sapling, he would bend 
it down, tie the deer to the top, and let it spring up again, so 
as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the wolves. At night 
he would return to the camp, and give an account of his luck. 
The next morning early he would get a horse out of the cane- 
brake and bring home his game. That day he would stay at 
home to cut up the carcass, while the others hunted. 

" Our days were thus spent in silent and lonely occupations. 
It was only at night that we would gather together before the 
fire, and be sociable. I was a novice, and used to listen with 
open eyes and ears to the strange and wild stories told by the 
old hunters, and believed everything I heard. Some of their 
stories bordered upon the supernatural. They believed that 
their rifles might be spell-bound, so as not to be able to kill a 
buffalo, even at arm's length. This superstition they had 
derived from the Indians, who often think the white hunters 
have laid a spell upon their rifles. Miller partook of tins 
superstition, and used to tell of his rifle's having a spell upon 
it ; but it often seemed to me to be a shuffling way of account- 
ing for a bad shot. If a hunter grossly missed his aim he 
would ask, 'Who shot last with thja rifle?' — and hint that he 
must have charmed it. The sure mode to disenchant the gun 
was to shoot a silver bullet out of it. 

■ ' By the opening of spring we would generally have quanti- 
ties of bear's-meat and venison salted, dried, and smoked, and 
numerous packs of skins. We would then make the best of 
our way home from our distant hunting-grounds; transporting 
our spoils, sometimes in canoes along the rivers, sometimes 
on horseback over land, and our return would often be cele- 



130 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

brated by feasting and dancing, in true backwoods style. I 
have given you some idea of our hunting ; let me now give you 
a sketch of our frolicking. 

' ' It was on our return from a winter's hunting in the neigh- 
borhood of Green River, when we received notice that there 
was to be a grand frolic at Bob Moscly's, to greet the hunters. 
This Bob Mosely was a prime fellow throughout the country. 
He was an indifferent hunter, it is true, and rather lazy to 
boot ; but then he could play the fiddle, and that was enough 
to make him of consequence. There was no other man within 
a hundred miles that could play the fiddle, so there was no 
having a regular frolic without Bob Mosely. The hunters, 
therefore, were always ready to give him a share of their 
game in exchange for his music, and Bob was always ready to 
get up a carousal, whenever there was a party returning from 
a hunting expedition. The present frolic was to take place 
at Bob Mosely's own house, which was on the Pigeon Roost 
Fork of the Muddy, which is a branch of Rough Creek, which 
is a branch of Green River. 

"Everybody was agog for the revel at Bob Moseley's; and as 
all 1 lie fashion of the neighborhood was to be there, I thought 
I must brush up for the occasion. My leathern hunting-dress, 
which was the only one I had, was somewhat the worse for 
wear, it is true, and considerably japanned with blood and 
grease; but I was up to hunting expedients. Getting into a 
periogue, I paddled off to a part of the Green River where 
there was sand and clay, that might serve for soap ; then taking 
off my dress, I scrubbed and scoured it, until I thought it looked 
very well. I then put it on the end of a stick, and hung it out 
of the periogue to dry, while I stretched myself very comfort- 
ably on the green bank of the river. Unluckily a flaw struck 
the periogue, and tipped over the stick : down went my dress 
to the bottom of the river, and I never saw it more. Here was 
I, left almost in a state of nature. I managed to make a kind 
of Robinson Crusoe garb of undressed skins, with the hair on, 
which enabled me to get home with decency ; but my dream of 
gayety and fashion was at an end ; for how could I think of 
figuring in high life at the Pigeon Roost, equipped like a mere 
Orson? 

" Old Miller, who really began to take some pride in me, was 
confounded when he understood that I did not intend to go to 
Bob Mosely's ; but when I told him my misfortune, and that I 
had no dress: ' By the powers,' cried he, 'but you shall go, and 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 131 

you shall be the best dressed and the best hiounted lad 
there!' 

"He immediately set to work to cut out and make up a 
hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, gayly fringed at the shoul- 
ders, with leggings of the same, fringed from hip to heel. Ee 
then made me a rakish raccoon-cap, with a flaunting tail to it ; 
mounted me on his best horse ; and I may say, without vanity, 
that I was one of the smartest fellows that figured on that 
occasion, at the Pigeon Roost Fork of the Muddy. 

"It was no small occasion, either, let me tell you. Bob 
Mosely's house was a tolerably large bark shanty, with a clap- 
board roof; and there were assembled all the young hunters and 
pretty girls of the country, for many a mile round. The young 
men were in their best hunting-dresses, but not one could com- 
pare with mine ; and my raccoon-cap, with its flowing tail, was 
the admiration of everybody. The girls were mostly in doe- 
skin dresses ; for there was no spinning and weaving as yet in 
the woods ; nor any need of it. I never saw girls that seemed 
to me better dressed ; and I was somewhat of a judge, having 
seen fashions at Richmond. We had a hearty dinner, and a 
merry one ; for there was Jemmy Kiel, famous for raccoon- 
hunting, and Bob Tarleton, and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Tay- 
lor, and several other prime fellows for a frolic, that made all 
ring again, and laughed, that you might have heard them a 
mile. 

"After dinner we began dancing, and were hard at it, when, 
about three o'clock in the afternoon, there was a new arrival — 
the two daughters of old Simon Schultz ; two young ladies that 
affected fashion and late hours. Their arrival had nearly put 
an end to all our merriment. I must go a little roundabout in 
my stdry to explain to you how that happened. 

" As old Schultz, the father, was one day looking in the cane- 
brakes for his cattle, he came upon the track of horses. He 
knew they were none of Ms, and that none of his neighbors had 
horses about that place. They must be stray horses ; or must 
belong to some traveller who had lost his way, as the track led 
nowhere. He accordingly followed it up, until he came to an 
unlucky peddler, with two or three pack-horses, who had been 
bewildered among the cattle-tracks, and had wandered for two 
or three days among woods and cane-brakes, until he was almost 
famished. 

" Old Schultz brought him to his house; fed him on venison, 
bear's meat, and hominy,- and at tlie end of a week put him in 



132 TEE CUATON PAPERS. 

prime condition. The peddler could not sufficiently express his 
thankfulness; and when about to depart, inquired what he had 
to pay? Old Schultz stepped back with surprise. ' Stranger,' 
said he, ' you have been welcome under my roof. I've given 
you nothing but wild meat and hominy, because I had no bet- 
ter, but have been glad of your company. You are welcome 
to stay as long as you please ; but, by Zounds ! if any one offers 
to pay Simon Schultz for food he affronts him ! ' So saying, he 
walked out in a huff. 

" The peddler admired the hospitality of his host, but could 
not reconcile it to his conscience to go away without making 
some recompense. There were honest Simon's two daughters, 
two strapping, red-haired girls. He opened his packs and dis- 
played riches before them of which they had no conception ; 
for in those days there were no country stores in those parts, 
with their artificial finery and trinketry ; and this was the first 
peddler that had wandered into that part of the wilderness. 
The girls were for a time completely dazzled, and knew not 
what to choose: but what caught their eyes most were two 
looking-glasses, about the size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They 
had never seen the like before, having used no other mirror 
than a pail of water. The peddler presented them with these 
jewels, without the least hesitation; nay, he gallantly hung 
them round their necks by red ribbons, almost as fine as the 
glasses themselves. This done, he took his departure, leaving 
them as much astonished as two princesses in a fairy tale, that 
have received a magic gift from an enchanter. 

"It was with these looking-glasses, hung round their necks 
as lockets, by red ribbons, that old Schultz's daughters made 
their appearance at three o'clock in the afternoon, at the frolic 
at Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon Roost Fork of the Mudd^. 

"By the powers, but it was an event! Such a thing had 
never before been seen in Kentucky. Bob Tarleton, a strap- 
ping fellow, with a head like a chestnut-burr, and a look like a 
boar in an apple orchard, stepped up, caught hold of the look- 
ing-glass of one of the girls, and gazing at it for a moment, 
cried out : ' Joe Taylor, come here ! come here ! I'll be darn'd 
if Patty Schultz ain't got a locket that you can see your face in, 
as clear as in a spring of water ! ' 

"In a twinkling all the young hunters gathered round old 
Schultz's daughters. I, who knew what looking-glasses were, 
did not budge. Some of the girls who sat near me were ex- 
cessively mortified at finding themselves thus deserted. I heard 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. I33 

Peggy Pugh say to Sally Pigman, ' Goodness knows, it's well 
Schultz's daughters is got them things round their necks, for 
it's the first time the young men crowded round them ! ' 

"I saw immediately the danger of the case. We were a 
small community, and could not afford to be split up by feuds. 
So I stepped up to the girls, and whispered to them: 'Polly,' 
said I, 'those lockets are powerful fine, and become you 
amazingly; but you don't consider that the country is not 
advanced enough in these parts for such things. You and I 
understand these matters, but these people don't. Fine tlungs 
like these may do very well in the old settlements, but they 
won't answer at the Pigeon Roost Fork of the Muddy. You 
had better lay them aside for the present, or we shall have no 
peace.' 

" Polly and her sister luckily saw their error; they took off 
the lockets, laid them aside, and harmony was restored : other- 
wise, I verily believe there would have been an end of our 
community. Indeed, notwithstanding the great sacrifice they 
made on this occasion, I do not think old Schultz's daughters 
were ever much liked afterward among the young women. 

' ' This was the first time that looking-glasses w ere ever seen 
in the Green River part of Kentucky. 

"I had now lived some time with old Miller, and had become 
a tolerably expert hunter. Game, however, began to grow 
scarce. The buffalo had gathered together, as if by universal 
understanding, and had crossed the Mississippi, never to re- 
turn. Strangers kept pouring into tehe country, clearing away 
the forests, and building in all directions. The hunters began 
to grow restive. Jemmy Kiel, the same of whom I have already 
spoken for his skill in raccoon catching, came to me one day : 
' I can't stand this any longer,' said he ; ' we're getting too thick 
here. Simon Schultz crowds me so, that I have no comfort of 
my life.' 

" ' Why, how you talk ! ' said I ; ' Simon Schultz lives twelve 
miles off.' 

" 'No matter; his cattle run with mine, and I've no idea of 
living where another man's cattle can run with mine. That's 
too close neighborhood; I want elbow-room. This country, 
too, is growing too poor to live in ; there's no game ; so two or 
three of us have made up our minds to follow the buffalo to the 
Missouri, and we should like to have you of the party.' Other 
hunters of my acquaintance talked in the same manner. This 
set me thinking ; but the more I thought the more I was per- 



134 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

plexed. I had no one to advise with; old Miller and his asso- 
ciates knew but of one mode of life, and I had had no experience 
in any other : but I had a wider scope of thought. When out 
hunting alone I used to forget the sport, and sit for hours to- 
gether on the trunk of a tree, with rifle in hand, buried in 
thought, and debating with myself : ' Shall I go with Jemmy 
Kiel and his company, or shall I remain here? If I remain here 
there will soon be nothing left to hunt ; but am I to be a hunter 
all my life? Have not I something more in me than to be 
carrying a rifle on my shoulder, day after day, and dodging 
about after bears, and deer, and other brute beasts? ' My vanity 
told me I had; and I called to mind my boyish boast to my 
sister, that I would never return home, until I returned a 
member of Congress from Kentucky ; but was this the way to 
fit myself for such a station? 

"Various plans passed through my mind, but they were 
abandoned almost as soon as formed. At length I determined 
on becoming a lawyer. True it is, I knew almost nothing. I 
had left school before I had learned beyond the ' rule of three.' 
'Never mind,' said I to myself, resolutely; 'lam a terrible 
fellow for hanging on to anything when I've once made up my 
mind ; and if a man has but ordinary capacity, and will set to 
work with heart and soul, and stick to it, he can do almost 
anything.' With this maxim, which has been pretty much 
my main-stay throughout life, I fortified myself in my deter- 
mination to attempt the law. But how was I to set about it? 
I must quit this forest life, and go to one or other of the towns, 
where I might be able to study, and to attend the courts. This 
too required funds. I examined into the state of my finances. 
The purse given me by my father had remained untouched, in 
the bottom of an old chest up in the loft, for money was scarcely 
needed in these parts. I had bargained away the skins ac- 
quired in hunting, for a horse and various other matters, on 
which, in case of need, I could raise funds. I therefore thought 
I could make shift to maintain myself until I was fitted for the 
bar. 

" I informed my worthy host and patron, old Miller, of my 
plan. He shook his head at my turning my back upon the 
woods, when I was in a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; 
but he made no effort to dissuade me. I accordingly set off in 
September, on horseback, intending to visit Lexington, Frank- 
fort, and other of the principal towns, in search of a favorable 
place to prosecute my studies. My choice was made sooner 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH BINGWOOD. 135 

than I expected. I had put up one night at Bardstown, and 
found, on inquiry, that I could get comfortable board and ac- 
commodation in a private family 161* a dollar and a half a week. 
I liked the place, and resolved to look no farther. So the next 
morning I prepared to turn my face homeward, and take my 
final leave of forest life. 

' ' I had taken my breakfast, and was waiting for my horse, 
when, in pacing up and down the piazza, I saw a young girl 
seated near a window, evidently a visitor. She was very 
pretty; with auburn hair and blue eyes, and was dressed in 
white. I had seen nothing of the kind since I had left Eich- 
mond ; and at that time I was too much of a boy to be much 
struck by female charms. She was so delicate and dainty- 
looking, so different from the hale, buxom, brown girls of the 
woods ; and then her white dress ! — it was perfectly dazzling ! 
Never was poor youth more taken by surprise, and suddenly 
bewitched. My heart yearned to know her; but how was I 
to accost her? I had grown wild in the woods, and had none 
of the habitudes of polite life. Had she been like Peggy Pugh 
or Sally Pigman, or any other of my leathern-dressed belles of 
the Pigeon Roost, I should have approached her without dread ; 
nay, had she been as fair as Schultz's daughters, with their 
looking-glass lockets, I should not have hesitated; but that 
white dress, and those auburn ringlets, and blue eyes, and deli- 
cate locks, quite daunted, while they fascinated me. I don't 
know what put it into my head., but I thought, all at once, that 
I would kiss her ! It would take a long acquaintance to arrive 
at such a boon, but I might seize upon it by sheer robbery. 
Nobody knew me here. I would just step in, snatch a kiss, 
mount my horse, and ride off. She would not be the worse for 
it ; and that kiss— oh ! I should die if I did not get it ! 

"I gave no time for the thought to cool, but entered the 
house, and stepped lightly into the room. She was seated with 
her back to the door, looking out at th£ window, and did not 
hear my approach. I tapped her chair, and as she turned and 
looked up, I snatched as sweet a kiss as ever was stolen, and 
vanished in a twinkling. The next moment I was on horse- 
back, galloping homeward; my very ears tingling at what I 
had done. 

"On my return home I sold my horse, and turned every 
thing to cash; and found, with the remains of the paternal 
purse, that I had nearly four hundred dollars; a little capital 
which I resolved to manage with the strictest economy, 



136 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

"It was hard parting with old Miller, who had been like a 
father to me ; it cost me, too, something of a struggle to give 
up the free, independent wild-wood life I had hitherto led ; but 
I had marked out my course, and had never been one to flinch 
or turn back. 

' ' I footed it sturdily to Bardstown ; took possession of the 
quarters for which I had bargained, shut myself up, and set to 
work with might and main to study. But what a task I had 
before me ! I had everything to learn ; not merely law, but all 
the elementary branches of knowledge. I read and read, for 
sixteen hours out of the f our-and-twenty ; but the more I read 
the more I became aware of my own ignorance, and shed bitter 
tears over my deficiency. It seemed as if the wilderness of 
knowledge expanded and grew more perplexed as I advanced. 
Every height gained only revealed a wider region to be trav- 
ersed, and nearly filled me with despair. I grew moody, silent, 
and unsocial, but studied on doggedly and incessantly. The 
only person with whom I held any conversation was the worthy 
man in whose house I was quartered. He was honest and well- 
meaning, but perfectly ignorant, and I believe would have 
liked me much better if I had not been so much addicted to 
reading. He considered all books filled with lies and imposi- 
tions, and seldom could look into one without'finding something 
to rouse his spleen. Nothing put him into a greater passion 
than the assertion that the world turned on its own axis every 
f our-and-twenty hours. He swore it was an outrage upon com- 
mon sense. ' Why, if it did, ' said he, ' there would not be a 
drop of water in the well by morning, and all the milk and 
cream in the dairy would be turned topsy-turvy ! And then to 
talk of the earth gomg round the sun! How do they know it? 
I've seen the sun mse every morning, and set every evening, for 
more than thirty years. They must not talk to me about the 
earth's going round the sun ! ' 

"At another time iie was in a perfect fret at being told the 
distance between the sun and moon. ' How can any one tell 
the distance?' cried he. 'Who surveyed it? who carried the 
chain ? By Jupiter ! they only talk this way before me to annoy 
me. But then there's some people of sense who give in to this 
cursed humbug ! There's Judge Broadnax, now, one of the best 
lawyers we have ; isn't it surprising he should believe in such 
stuff ? Why, sir, the other day I heard him talk of the distance 
from a star he called Mars to the sun ! He must have got it 
out of one or other of those confounded books he's so fond of 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OE RALPH RIJskrWOOD. 137 

reading ; a book some impudent fellow has written, who knew 
nobody could swear the distance was more or less. ' 

1 ' For my own part, feeling my own deficiency in scientific 
lore, I never ventured to unsettle his conviction that the sun 
made his daily circuit round the earth ; and for aught I said to 
the contrary, he lived and died in that belief. 

"I had been about a year at Bardstown, living thus stu- 
diously and reclusely, when, as I was one day walking the 
street, I met two young girls, in one of whom I immediately 
recalled the little beauty whom I had kissed so impudently. 
She blushed up to the eyes, and so did I ; but we both passed 
on without further sign of recognition. This second glimpse of 
her, however, caused an odd fluttering about my heart. I 
could not get her out of my thoughts for days. She quite 
interfered with my studies. I tried to think of her as a mere 
child, but it would not do ; she had improved in beauty, and 
was tending toward womanhood ; and then I myself was but 
little better than a stripling. However, I did not attempt to 
seek after her, or even to find out who she was, but returned 
doggedly to my books. By degrees she faded from my 
thoughts, or if she did cross them occasionally, it was only to 
increase my despondency ; for I feared that with all my exer- 
tions, I should never be able to fit myself for the bar, or enable 
myself to support a wife. 

"One cold stormy evening I was seated, in dumpish mood, 
in the bar-room of the inn, looking into the fire, and turning 
over uncomfortable thoughts, when I was accosted by some 
one who had entered the room without my perceiving it. I 
looked up, and saw before me a tall and, as I thought, pom- 
pous-looking man, arrayed in small-clothes and knee-buckles, 
with powdered head, and shoes nicely blacked and polished; 
a style of dress unparalleled in those days, in that rough 
country. I took a pique against him from the very portliness 
of his appearance, and stateliness of his manner, and bristled 
up as he accosted me. He demanded if my name was not 
Ringwood. 

" I was startled, for I supposed myself perfectly incog. ; but 
I answered in the affirmative. 

" ' Your family, I believe, lives in Richmond?' 

"My gorge began to rise. 'Yes, sir,' replied I, sulkily, 'my 
family does lives in Richmond. ' 

" 'And what, may I ask, has brought you into this part of 
the country?' 



138 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

" 'Zounds, sir! 'cried I, starting on my feet, 'what busi- 
ness is it of yours? How dare you to question me in this 
manner? ' 

"The entrance of some persons prevented a reply; but I 
walked up and down the bar-room, fuming with conscious in- 
dependence and insulted dignity, while the pompous-looking 
personage, who had thus trespassed upon my spleen, retired 
without proffering another word. 

" The next day, while seated in my room, some one tapped at 
the door, and, on being bid to enter, the stranger in the pow- 
dered rhead, small-clothes, and shining shoes and buckles, 
walked in with ceremonious courtesy. 

" My boyish pride was again in arms; but he subdued me. 
He was formal, but kind and friendly. He knew my family 
and understood my situation, and the dogged struggle I was 
making. A little conversation, when my jealous pride was 
once put to rest, drew everything from me. He was a lawyer 
of experience and of extensive practice, and offered at once to 
take me with him, and direct my studies. The offer was too 
advantageous and gratifying not to be immediately accepted. 
From that time I began to look up. I was put into a proper 
track, and was enabled to study to a proper purpose. I made 
acquaintance, too, with some of the young men of the place, 
who were in the same pursuit, and was encouraged at finding 
that I could ' hold my own ' in argument with them. We insti- 
tuted a debating club, in which I soon became prominent and 
popular. Men of talents, engaged in other pursuits, joined it, 
and this diversified our subjects, and put me on various tracks 
of inquiry. Ladies, too, attended some of our discussions, and 
this gave them a polite tone, and had an influence on the man- 
ners of the debaters. My legal patron also may have had a 
favorable effect in correcting any roughness contracted in my 
hunter's life. He was calculated to bend me in an opposite 
direction, for* he was of the old school ; quoted Chesterfield on 
all occasions, and talked of Sir Charles Grandison, who was 
his beau ideal. It was Sir Charles Grandison, however, Ken- 
tuckyized. 

"I had always been fond of female society. My experience, 
however, had hitherto been among the rough daughters of the 
backwoodsmen; and I felt an awe of young ladies in 'store 
clothes,' and delicately brought up. Two or three of the mar- 
ried ladies of Bardstown, who had heard me at the debating 
club, determined that I was a genius, and undertook to bring 



• EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 139 

me out. I believe I really improved under their hands ; became 
quiet where I had been shy or sulky, and easy where I had 
been impudent. 

"I called to take tea one evening with one of these ladies, 
when to my surprise, and somewhat to my confusion, I found 
with her the identical blue-eyed little beauty whom I had so 
audaciously kissed. I was formally introduced to her, but 
neither of us betrayed any sign of previous acquaintance, ex- 
cept by blushing to the eyes. While tea was getting ready, 
the lady of the house went out of the room to give some direc- 
tions, and left us alone. 

"Heavens and earth, what a situation ! I would have given 
all the pittance I was worth to have been in the deepest dell of 
the forest. I felt the necessity of saying something in excuse 
of my former rudeness, but I could not conjure up an idea, 
nor utter a word. Every moment matters were growing 
worse. I felt at one time tempted to do as I had done when 
I robbed her of the kiss:, bolt from the room, and take to 
flight; but I was chained to the spot, for I really longed to 
gain her good- will. 

"At length I plucked up courage, on seeing that she was 
equally confused with myself, and Yfalking desperately up to 
her, I exclaimed : 

" 'I have been trying to muster up something to say to you, 
but I cannot. I feel that I am in a horrible scrape. Do have 
pity on me, and help me out of it.' 

"A smile dimpled about her mouth, and played among the 
blushes of her cheek. She looked up with a shy, but arch 
glance of the eye, that expressed a volume of comic recollec- 
tion; we both broke into a laugh, and from that moment all 
went on well, 

1 ' A few evenings afterward I met her at a dance, and pro- 
secuted the acquaintance. I soon became deeply attached to 
her ; paid my court regularly ; and before I was nineteen years 
of age, had engaged myself to marry her. I spoke to her 
mother, a widow lady, to ask her consent. She seemed to 
demur; upon which, with my customary haste, I told her 
there would be no use in opposing the match, for if her daugh- 
ter chose to have me, I would take her, in defiance of her 
family, and the whole world. 

"She laughed, and told me I need not give myself any un- 
easiness; there would be no unreasonable opposition. She 
knew my family and all about me. The only obstacle was, 



140 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

that I had no means of supporting a wife, and she had noth- 
ing to give with her daughter. 

"No matter; at that moment everything was bright before 
me. I was in one of my s^mguine moods. I feared nothing, 
doubted nothing. So it wa c agreed that I should prosecute my 
studies, obtain a license, and as soon as I should be fairly 
launched in business, we would be married. 

"I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled ardor, and 
was up to my ears in law, when I received a letter from my 
father, who had heard of me and my whereabouts. He ap- 
plauded the course I had taken, but advised me to lay a foun- 
dation of general knowledge, and offered to defray my expenses, 
if I would go to college. I felt the want of a general education, 
and was staggered with this offer. It militated somewhat 
against the self-dependent course I had so proudly, or rather 
conceitedly, marked out for myself, but it would enable me to 
enter more advantageously upon my legal career. I talked 
over the matter with the lovely girl to whom I was engaged. 
She sided in opinion with my father, and talked so disinter- 
estedly, yet tenderly, that if possible, I loved her more than 
ever. I reluctantly, therefore, agreed to go to college for a 
couple of years, though it must necessarily postpone our 
union. 

"Soarcely had I formed this resolution, when her mother 
was taken ill, and died, leaving her without a protector. This 
again altered all my plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I 
gave up all idea of collegiate studies; persuaded myself that 
by dint of industry and application I might overcome the 
deficiencies of education, and resolved to take out a license as 
soon as possible. 

"That very autumn I was admitted to the bar, and within a 
month afterward was married. We were a young couple, she 
not much above sixteen, I not quite twenty ; and both almost 
without a dollar in the world. The establishment which we 
set up was suited to our circumstances : a log-house, with two 
small rooms ; a bed, a table, a half dozen chairs, a half dozen 
knives and forks, a half dozen spoons; everything by half 
dozens; a little delft ware; everything in a small way: we 
were so poor, but then so happy ! 

"We had not been married many days, when court was held 
at a county town, about twenty-five miles distant. It was 
necessary for me to go there, and put myself in the way of 
business ; but how was I to go ? I had expended all my means 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 141 

on our establishment ; and then it was hard parting with my 
wife so soon after marriage. However, go I must. Money 
must be made, or we should soon have the wolf at the door. 
I accordingly borrowed a horse, and borrowed a little cash, 
and rode off from my door, leaving my wife standing at it, 
and waving her hand after me. Her last look, so sweet and 
beaming, went to my heart. I felt as if I could go through 
fire and water for her. 

"I arrived at the county town on a cool October evening. 
The inn was crowded, for the court was to commence on the 
following day. I knew no one, and wondered how I, a stranger, 
and a mere youngster, was to make my way in such a crowd, 
and to get business. The public room was thronged with the 
idlers of the country, who gather together on such occasions. 
There was some drinking going forward, with much noise, and 
a little altercation. Just as I entered the room I saw a rough 
bully of a fellow, who was partly intoxicated, strike an old 
man. He came swaggering by me, and elbowed me as he 
passed. I immediately knocked him down, and kicked him 
into the street. I needed no better introduction. In a mo- 
ment I had a dozen rough shakes of the hand, and invitations 
to drink, and found myself quite a personage in this rough 
assembly. 

"The next morning the court opened. I tobk my seat 
among the lawyers, but felt as a mere spectator, not having 
a suit in progress or prospect, nor having any idea where busi- 
ness was to come from. In the course of the morning a man 
was put at the bar, charged with passing counterfeit money, 
and was asked if he was ready for trial. He answered in the 
negative. He had been confined in a place where there were 
no lawyers, and had not had an opportunity of consulting any. 
He was told to choose counsel from the lawyers present, and 
to be ready for trial on the following day. He looked round 
the court and selected me. I was thunder-struck. I could not 
tell why he should make such a choice. I, a beardless young- 
ster; unpractised at the bar; perfectly unknown. I felt diffi- 
dent yet delighted, and could have hugged the rascal. 
* " Before leaving the court he gave me one hundred dollars 
in a bag as a retaining fee. I could scarcely believe my senses ; 
it seemed like a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke but 
lightly in favor of his innocence, but that was no affair of 
mine. I was to be advocate, not judge nor jury. I followed 
him to jail, and learned from him all the particulars of his 



142 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

case ; from thence I went to the clerk's office and took minutes 
of the indictment. I then examined the law on the subject, 
and prepared my brief in my room. All this occupied me 
until midnight, when I went to bed and tried to sleep. It was 
all in vain. Never in my life was I more wide-awake. A host 
of thoughts and fancies kept rushing through my mind ; the 
shower of gold that had so expectedly fallen into my lap ; the 
idea of my poor little wife at home, that I was to astonish 
with my good fortune ! But then the awful responsibility I 
had undertaken! — to speak for the first time in a strange 
court; the expectations the culprit had evidently formed of 
my talents; all these, and a crowd of similar notions, kept 
whirling through my mind. I tossed about all night, fearing 
the morning would find me exhausted and incompetent ; in a 
word, the day dawned on me, a miserable fellow ! 

1 ' I got up feverish and nervous. I walked out before break- 
fast, striving to collect my thoughts, and tranquillize my feel- 
ings. It was a bright morning ; the air was pure and frosty. 
I bathed my forehead and my hands in a beautiful running 
stream ; but I could not allay the fever heat that raged within. 
I returned to breakfast, but could not eat. A single cup of 
coffee formed my repast. It was time to go to court, and I 
went there with a throbbing heart. I believe if it had not been 
for the thoughts of my little wife, in her lonely log house, I 
should have given back to the man his hundred dollars, and 
relinquished the cause. I took my seat, looking, I am con- 
vinced, more like a culprit than the rogue I was to defend. 

"When the time came for me to speak, my heart died with- 
in me. I rose embarrassed and dismayed, and stammered in 
opening my cause. I went on from bad to worse, and felt as 
if I was going down hill. Just then the public prosecutor, a 
man of talents, but somewhat rough in his practice, made a 
sarcastic remark on something I had said. It was like an 
electric spark, and ran tingling through every vein in my 
body. In an instant my diffidence was gone. My whole spirit 
was in arms. I answered with promptness and bitterness, for 
I felt the cruelty of such an attack upon a novice in my situa- 
tion. The public prosecutor made a kind of apology; this, 
from a man of his redoubted powers, was a vast concession. 
I renewed my argument with a fearless glow ; carried the case 
through triumphantly, and the man was acquitted. 

' ' This was the making of me. Everybody was curious to 
know who this new lawyer was, that had thus suddenly risen 



EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 143 

among tliem, and bearded the attorney-general at the very- 
outset. The story of my debut at the inn on the preceding 
evening, when I had knocked down a bully, and kicked him 
out of doors for striking an old man, was circulated with 
favorable exaggerations. Even my very beardless chin and 
juvenile countenance were in my favor, for people gave me 
far more credit than I really deserved. The chance business 
which occurs in our country courts came thronging upon me. 
I was repeatedly employed in other causes ; and by Saturday 
night, when the court closed, and I had paid my bill at the 
inn, I found myself with a hundred and fifty dollars in silver, 
three hundred dollars in notes, and a horse that I afterward 
sold for two hundred dollars more. 

"Never did miser gloat on his money with more delight. I 
locked the door of my room ; piled the money in a heap upon 
the table ; walked round it ; sat with my elbows on the table, 
and my chin upon my hands, and gazed upon it. Was I 
thinking of the money? No! I was thinking of my little 
wife at home. Another sleepless night ensued; but what a 
night of golden fancies, and splendid air-castles ! As soon as 
morning dawned, I was up, mounted the borrowed horse with 
which I had come to court, and led the other which I had re- 
ceived as a fee. All the way I was delighting myself with the 
thoughts of the surprise I had in store for my little wife, for 
both of us had expected nothing but that I should spend all 
the money I had borrowed, and should return in debt. 

" Our meeting was joyous, as you may suppose: but I .played 
the part of the Indian hunter, who, when he returns from the 
chase, never for a time speaks of his success. She had pre- 
pared a snug little rustic meal for me, and while it was getting 
ready I seated myself at an old-fashioned desk in one corner, 
and began to count over my money, and put it away. She 
came to me before I had finished, and asked who I had col- 
lected the money for. 

" 'For myself, to be sure,' replied I,, with affected coolness; 
* I made it at court.' 

" She looked me for a moment in the face, incredulously. I 
tried to keep my countenance, and to play Indian, but it would 
not do. My muscles began to twitch ; my feelings all at once 
gave way. I caught her in my arms; laughed, cried, and 
danced about the room, like a crazy man. From that time 
forward, we never wanted for money. 

" I had not been long in successful practice, when I was sur-i 



144 THE CRAYON PAPEltS. 

prised one day by a visit from my woodland patron, old Miller.' 
The tidings of my prosperity had reached him in the wilder- 
ness, and he had walked one hundred and fifty miles on foot 
to see me. By that time I had improved my domestic estab- 
lishment, and had all things comfortable about me. He looked 
around him with a wondering eye, at what he considered luxu- 
ries and superfluities ; but supposed they were all right in my 
altered circumstances. He said he did not know, upon the 
whole, but that I had acted for the best. It is true, if game 
had continued plenty, it would have been a folly for me to quit 
a hunter's life ; but hunting was pretty nigh done up in Ken- 
tucky. The buffalo had gone to Missouri ; the elk were nearly 
gone also ; deer, too, were growing scarce ; they might last out 
his time, as he was growing old, but they were not worth set- 
ting up life upon. He had once lived on the borders of Vir- 
ginia. Game grew scarce there ; he followed it up across Ken- 
tucky, and now it was again giving him the slip ; but he was 
too old to follow it farther. 

" He remained with us three days. My wife did everything 
in her power to make him comfortable ; but at the end of that 
time he said he must be off again to the woods. He was tired 
of the village, and of having so many people about him. He 
accordingly returned to the wilderness and to hunting life. 
But I fear he did not make a good end of it; for I understand 
that a few years before his death he married Sukey Thomas, 
who lived at the White Oak Run." 



THE SEMINOLES. 



From the time of the chimerical cruisings of Old Ponce de 
Leon in search of the Fountain of Youth, the avaricious expe- 
dition of Pamphilo de Narvaez in quest of gold, and the chival- 
rous enterprise of Hernando de Soto, to discover and conquer 
a second Mexico, the natives of Florida have been continually 
subjected to the invasions and encroachments of white men. 
They have resisted them perseveringly but fruitlessly, and are 
now battling amid swamps and morasses for the last foothold 
of their native soil, with all the ferocity of despair. Can we 
wonder at the bitterness of a hostility that has been handed 
down from father to son, for upward of three centuries, ancl 



THE SEMINOLES. 145 

exasperated by the wrongs and miseries of each succeeding 
generation ! The very name of the savages with whom we are 
fighting betokens their fallen and homeless condition. Formed 
of the wrecks of once powerful tribes, and driven from their 
ancient seats of prosperity and dominion, they are known by 
the name of the Seminoles, or "Wanderers." 

Bartram, who travelled through Florida in the latter part of 
the last century, speaks of passing through a great extent of 
ancient Indian fields, now silent and deserted, overgrown with 
forests, orange groves, and rank vegetation, the site of the 
ancient Alachua, the capital of a famous and powerful tribe, 
who in days of old could assemble thousands at bull-play and 
other athletic exercises "over these then happy fields and 
green plains." "Almost every step we take," adds he, " over 
these fertile heights, discovers the remains and traces of 
ancient human habitations and cultivation." 

About the year 1763, when Florida was ceded by the Span- 
iards to the English, we are told that the Indians generally 
retired from the towns and the neighborhood of the whites, 
and burying themselves in the deep forests, intricate swamps 
and hommocks, and vast savannas of the interior, devoted 
themselves to a pastoral life, and the rearing of horses and 
cattle. These are the people that received the name of the 
Seminoles, or Wanderers, which they still retain. 

Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at the time he vis- 
ited them in their wilderness ; where their distance from the 
abodes of the white man gave them a transient quiet and 
security. " This handful of people," says he, " possesses a vast 
territory, all East and the greatest part of 'West Florida, 
which being naturally cut and divided into thousands of 
islets, knolls, and eminences, by the innumerable rivers, lakes, 
swamps, vast savannas, and ponds, form so many secure re- 
treats and temporary dwelling places that effectually guard 
them from any sudden invasions or attacks from their ene- 
mies; and being thus a swampy, hommocky country, fur- 
nishes such a plenty and variety of supplies for the nourish- 
ment of varieties of animals, that I can venture to assert that 
no part of the globe so abounds with wild game, or creatures 
fit for the food of man. 

" Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the necessaries and 
conveniences of life, with the security of person and property, 
the two great concerns of mankind. The hides of deer, bears, 
tigers, and wolyes, together with honey, wax, and other pro- 



146 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ductions of the country, purchase their clothing equipage and 
domestic utensils from the whites. They seem to he free from 
want or desires. No cruel enemy to dread ; nothing to give 
them disquietude, but the gradual encroachments of the white 
people. Thus contented and undisturbed, they appear as blithe 
and free as the birds of the air, and like them as volatile and 
active, tuneful and vociferous. The visage, action, and deport- 
ment of the Seminoles form the most striking picture of hap- 
piness in this life; joy, contentment, love, and friendship, 
without guile or affectation, seem inherent in them, or pre- 
dominant in their vital principle, for it leaves them with but 

the last breath of life They are fond of games and 

gambling, and amuse themselves like children, in relating 
extravagant stories, to cause surprise and mirth." * 

The same writer gives an engaging picture of his treatment 
by these savages : 

" Soon after entering the forests, we were met in the path 
by a small company of Indians, smiling and beckoning to us 
long before we joined them. This was a . family of Talaha- 
sochte, who had been out on a hunt and were returning home 
loaded with barbecued meat, hides, and honey. Their company 
consisted of the man, his wife and children, well mounted on 
fine horses, with a number of pack-horses. The man offered 
us a fawn skin of honey, which I accepted, and , at parting 
presented him with some fish-hooks, sewing-needles, etc. 

" On our return to camp in the evening, we were saluted by 
a party of young Indian warriors, who had pitched their tents 
on a green eminence near the lake, at a small distance from our 
camp, under a little grove of oaks and palms. This company 
consisted of seven young Seminoles, under the conduct of a- 
young prince or chief of Talahasochte, a town southward in the 
isthmus. They were all dressed and painted with singular 
elegance, and richly ornamented with silver plates, chains, 
etc., after the Seminole mode, with waving plumes of feathers 
on their crests. On our coming up to them, they arose and 
shook hands ; we alighted and sat awhile with them by their 
cheerful fire. 

" The young prince informed our chief that he was in pur- 
suit of a young fellow who had fled from the town carrying 
off with him one of his favorite young wives. He said, mer- 
rily, he would have the ears of both of them before he returned. 

* Bartram's Travels iu North America. 



THE SEMINOLES. 147 

He was rather above the middle stature, and the most perfect 
human figure I ever saw; of an amiable, engaging counte- 
nance, air, and deportment ; free and familiar in conversation, 
yet retaining a becoming gracefulness and dignity. We arose, 
took leave of them, and crossed a little vale, covered with a 
charming green turf, already illuminated by the soft light of 
the full moon. 

"Soon after joining our companions at camp, our neigh- 
bors, the prince and his associates, paid us a visit. We treated 
them with the best fare we had, having till this time preserved 
our spirituous liquors. They left us with perfect cordiality 
and cheerfulness, wishing us a good repose, and retired to 
their own camp. Having a band of music with them, con- 
sisting of a drum, flutes, and a rattle-gourd, they entertained 
us during the night with their music, vocal and instrumental. 

There is a languishing softness and melancholy air in the 
Indian convivial songs, especially of the amorous class, irre- 
sistibly moving attention, and exquisitely pleasing, especially 
in their solitary recesses, when ail nature is silent." 

Travellers who have been among them, in more recent 
times, before they had embarked in their present desperate 
struggle, represent them in much the same light; as leading 
a pleasant, indolent life, in a climate that required little 
shelter or clothing, and where the spontaneous fruits of the 
earth furnished subsistence without toil. A cleanly race, de- 
lighting in bathing, passing much of their time under the 
shade of their trees, with heaps of oranges and other fine 
fruits for their refreshment; talking, laughing, dancing and 
sleeping. Every chief had a fan hanging to his side, made 
of feathers of the wild turkey, the beautiful pink-colored 
crane or the scarlet flamingo. With this he would sit and fan 
himself with great stateliness, while the young people danced 
before him. The women joined in the dances with the men, 
excepting the war-dances. They wore strings of tortoise-shells 
and pebbles round their legs, which rattled in cadence to the 
music. They were treated with more attention among the 
Seminoles than among most Indian tribes. 

ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE BLACK MEN 
A SEMINOLE TRADITION. 

When the Floridas were erected into a territory of the 
United States, one of the earliest cares of the Governor, 



148 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

William P. Duval, was directed to the instruction and civiliza- 
tion of the natives. For this purpose he called a meeting 
of the chiefs, in which he informed them of the wish of their 
Great Father at Washington that they should have schools 
and teachers among them, and that their children should be 
instructed like the children of white men. The chiefs listened 
with their customary silence and decorum to a long speech, 
setting forth the advantages that would accrue to them from 
this measure, and when he had concluded, begged the interval 
of a day to deliberate on it. 

On the following day a solemn convocation was held, at 
which one of the chiefs addressed the governor in the name of 
all the rest. "My brother," said he, " we have been thinking 
over the proposition of our Great Father at Washington, to 
send teachers and set up schools among us. We are very 
thankful for the interest he takes in our welfare; but after 
much deliberation, have concluded to decline his offer. What 
will do very well for white men, will not do for red men. 
I know you white men say we all come from the same father 
and mother, but you are mistaken. We have a tradition 
handed down from our forefathers, and we believe it, that the 
Great Spirit when he undertook to make men, made the black 
man ; it was his first attempt, and pretty well for a beginning ; 
but he soon saw he had bungled ; so he determined to try his 
hand again. He did so, and made the red man. He liked him 
much better than the black man, but still he was not exactly 
what he wanted. So he tried once more, and made the white 
man ; and then he was satisfied. You see, therefore, that you 
were made last, and that is the reason I call you my youngest 
brother. 

"When the Great Spirit had made the three men, he 
called them together and showed them three boxes. The first 
was filled with books, and maps, and papers ; the second with 
bows and arrows, knives and tomahawks; the third with 
spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. 'These, my sons,' said he, 
' are the means by which you are to live : choose among them 
according to your fancy.' 

' ' The white man, being the favorite, had the first choice. 
He passed by the box of working-tools without notice; but 
when he came to the weapons for war and hunting, he stopped 
and looked hard at them. The red man trembled, for he had 
set his heart upon that box. The white man, however, after 
looking upon it for a moment, passed on, and chose the box 



THE SEMINOLES. 149 

of books and papers. The red man's turn came next; and 
you may be sure he seized with joy upon the bows and ar- 
rows and tomahawks. As to the black man, he had no choice 
left but to put up with the box of tools. 

"From this it is clear that the Great Spirit intended the 
white man should learn to read and write ; to understand all 
about the moon and stars; and to make everything, even 
rum and whiskey. That the red man should be a first-rate 
hunter, and a mighty warrior, but he was not to learn any- 
thing from books, as the Great Spirit had not given him 
any : nor was he to make rum and whiskey, lest he should 
kill himself with drinking. As to the black man, as he had 
nothing but working-tools, it was clear he was to work for 
the white and red man, which he has continued to do. 

"We must go according to the wishes of the Great Spirit, 
or we shall get into trouble. To know how to read and write 
is very good for white men, but very bad for red men. It 
makes white men better, but red men worse. Some of the 
Creeks and Cherokees learned to read and write, and they 
are the greatest rascals among all the Indians. They went 
on to Washington, and said they were going to see their Great 
Father, to talk about the good of the nation. And when 
they got there, they all wrote upon a little piece of paper, 
without the nation at home knowing anything about it. And 
the first thing the nation at home knew of the matter, they 
were called together by the Indian agent, who showed them a 
little piece of paper, which he told them was a treaty, which 
their brethren had made in their name, with their Great Father, 
at Washington. And as they knew not what a treaty was, he 
held up the little piece of paper, and they looked under it, and 
lo ! it covered a great extent of country, and they found that 
their brethren, by knowing how to read and write, had sold 
their houses and their lands and the graves of their fathers ; 
and that the white man, by knowing how to read and write, 
had gained them. Tell our Great Father at Washington, 
therefore, that we are very sorry we cannot receive teachers 
among us ; for reading and writing, though very good for 
white men, is ver.y bad for the Indians." 



150 TEE CRAYON PAPERS. 



THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 

AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH. 

In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and other commis- 
sioners on the part of the United States, concluded a treaty 
with the chiefs and warriors of the Florida Indians, by which 
the latter, for certain considerations, ceded all claims to the 
whole territory, excepting a district in the eastern part, to 
which they were to remove, and within which they were to 
eside for twenty years. Several of the chiefs signed the 
treaty with great reluctance; but none opposed it more 
strongly than Neamathla, principal chief of the Mickasookies, 
a fierce and warlike people, many of them Creeks by origin, 
who lived about the Mickasookie lake. Neamathla had always 
been active in those depredations on the frontiers of Georgia, 
which had brought vengeance and ruin on the Seminoles. He 
was a remarkable man ; upward of sixty years of age, abo'ut 
six feet high, with a fine eye, and a strongly marked counte- 
nance, over which he possessed great command. His hatred 
of the white men appeared to be mixed with contempt : on the 
common people he looked down with infinite - scorn. He 
seemed unwilling to acknowledge any superiority of rank or 
dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to associate with him on 
terms of equality, as two great chieftains. Though he had 
been prevailed upon to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. 
In one of his frank conversations with Governor Duval, he 
observed: " This country belongs to the red man; and if I had 
the number of warriors at my command that this nation once 
had, I would not leave a white man on my lands. I would 
exterminate the whole. I can say this to you, for you can 
understand me ; you are a man ; but I would not say it to your 
people. They'd cry out I was a savage, and would take my 
life. They cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that loves 
his country." 

As Florida had but recently been erected into a territory, 
everything as yet was in rude and simple style. The gover- 
nor, to make himself acquainted with the Indians, and to be 
near at hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed his residence at 
Tallahassee, near the Fowel towns, inhabited by the Micka- 
sookies. Hip government palace for a time was a mere log 



THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 1£1 

house, and he lived on hunters' fare. The village of Neamath- 
la was but about three miles off, and thither the governor oc- 
casionally rode, to visit the old chieftain. In one of these visits 
he found Neamathla seated in his wigwam, in the centre of 
the village, surrounded by his warriors. The governor had 
brought him some liquor as a present, but it mounted quickly 
into his brain, and rendered him quite boastful and belligerent. 
The theme ever uppermost in his mind, was the treaty with 
the whites. "It was true," he said, " the red men had made 
such a treaty, but the white men had not acted up to it. The 
red men had received none of the money and the cattle that 
had been promised them : the treaty, therefore, was at an end, 
and they did not intend to be bound by it." 

Governor Duval calmly represented to him that the time 
appointed in the treaty for the payment and delivery of the 
money and the cattle had not yet arrived. This the old chief- 
tain knew full well, but he chose, for the moment, to pretend 
ignorance. He kept on drinking and talking, his voice grow- 
ing louder and louder, until it resounded all over the village. 
He held in his hand a long knife, with which- he had been 
rasping tobacco; this he kept flourishing backward and for- 
ward, as he talked, by way of giving effect to his words, 
brandishing it at times within an inch of the governor's throat. 
He concluded his tirade by repeating, that the country be- 
longed to the red men, and that sooner than give it up, his 
bones and the bones of his people should bleach upon its soil. 

Duval saw that the object of all this bluster was to see 
whether he could be intimidated. He kept his eye, therefore, 
fixed steadily on the chief, and the moment he concluded with 
his menace, seized him by the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and 
clinching his other fist : 

"I've heard what you have said," replied he. "You. have 
made a treaty, yet you say your bones shall bleach before 
you comply with it. As sure as there is a sun in heaven, your 
bones shall bleach, if you do not fulfil every article of that 
treaty ! I'll let you know that I am. first here, and will see that 
you do your duty !" 

Upon this, the old chieftain threw himself back, burst into a 
fit of laughing, and declared that all he had said was in joke. 
The governor suspected, however, that there was a grave 
meaning at the bottom of this jocularity. 

For two months, everything went on smoothly : the Indians 
repaired daily to the log-cabin palace of the governor, at Talla- 



152 TEE CRAYON PAPERS. 

hassee, and appeared perfectly contented. All at once they 
ceased their visits, and for three or four days not one was, to 
be seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend that some mis- 
chief was brewing. On the evening of the fourth day a chief 
named Yellow-Hair, a resolute, intelligent fellow, who had 
always evinced an attachment for the governor, entered his 
cabin about twelve o'clock at night, and informed him that 
between four and five hundred warriors, painted and deco- 
rated, were assembled to hold a secret war-talk at Neamathla's 
town. He had slipped off to give intelligence, at the risk of his 
life, and hastened back lest his absence should be discovered. 

Governor Duval passed an anxious night after this intelli- 
gence. He knew the talent and the daring character of Nea- 
mathla; he recollected the threats he had thrown out; he 
reflected that about eighty white families were scattered wide- 
ly apart, over a great extent of country, and might be swept 
away at once, should the Indians, as he feared, determine to 
clear the country. That he did not exaggerate the dangers of 
the case, has been proved by the horrid scenes of Indian war- 
fare that have since desolated that devoted region. After a 
night of sleepless cogitation, Duval determined on a measure 
suited to his prompt and resolute character. Knowing the 
admiration of the savages for personal courage, he determined, 
by a sudden surprise, to endeavor to overawe and pheck them. 
It was hazarding much ; but where so many lives were in jeop- 
ardy, he felt bound to incur the hazard. 

Accordingly, on the next morning, he set off on horseback 1 , 
attended merely by a white man, who had been reared among 
the Seminoles, and understood their language and manners, 
and who acted as interpreter. They struck into an Indian 
"trail," leading to Neamathla's village. After proceeding 
about half a mile, Governor Duval informed the interpreter 
of the object of his expedition. The latter, though a bold man, 
paused and remonstrated. The Indians among whom they 
were going were among the most desperate and discontented 
of the nation. Many of them were veteran warriors, impover- 
ished and exasperated by defeat, and ready to set their lives at 
any hazard. He said that if they were holding a war council, 
it must be with desperate intent, and it would be certain death 
to intrude among them. 

Duval made light of his apprehensions: he said he was 
perfectly well acquainted with the Indian character, and 
should certainly proceed. So saying, he rode on. When, 



THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATULA. 153 

within half a mile of the village, the interpreter addressed him 
again, in such a tremulous tone that Duval turned and looked 
him in the face. He was deadly pale, and once more urged the 
governor to return, as they would certainly be massacred if 
they proceeded. 

Duval repeated his determination to go on, but advised the 
other to return, lest his pale face should betray fear to the 
Indians, and they might take advantage of it. The interpreter 
replied that he would rather die a thousand deaths than have 
it said he had deserted his leader when in peril. 

Duval then told him he most translate faithfully all he 
should say to the Indians, without softening a word. The 
interpreter promised faithfully to do so, adding that he well 
knew, when they were once in the town, nothing but boldness 
could save them. 

They now rode into the village, and advanced to the council- 
house. This was rather a group of four houses, forming a 
square, in the centre of which was a great council-fire. The 
houses were open in front, toward the fire, and closed in the 
rear. At each corner of the square there was an interval 
between the houses, for ingress and egress. In these houses 
sat the old men and the chiefs ; the young men were gathered 
round the fire. Neamathla presided at the council, elevated on 
a higher seat than the rest. 

Governor Duval entered by one of the corner intervals, and 
rode boldly into the centre of the square. The young men 
made way for him ; an old man who was speaking, paused in 
the midst of his harangue. In an instant thirty or forty rifles 
were cocked and levelled. Never had Duval heard so loud a 
click of triggers : it seemed to strike to his heart. He gave one 
glance at the Indians, and turned off with an air of contempt. 
He did not dare, he says, to look again, lest it might affect 
his nerves; and on the firmness of his nerves everything 
depended. 

The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were lowered. DuvpJ 
breathed more freely : he felt disposed to leap from his horse, 
but restrained himself, and dismounted leisurely. He then 
walked deliberately up to Neamathla, and demanded, in an 
authoritative tone, what were his motives for holding that 
council. The moment he made this demand, the orator sat 
down. The chief made no reply, but hung his head in appar- 
ent confusion. After a moment's pause, Duval proceeded : 

M J am well aware of the meaning of this war-council: anci 



154 THE CBAYGN PAPERS. 

deem it my duty to warn you against prosecuting the schemes 
you have been devising. If a single hair of a white man in 
this country falls to the ground, I will hang you and your 
chiefs on the trees around your council-house ! You cannot 
pretend to withstand the power of the white men. You are in 
the palm of the hand of your Great Father at Washington, 
who can crush you like an egg-shell. You may kill me : I am 
but one man ; but recollect, white men are numerous as the 
leaves on the trees. Eemember the fate of your warriors 
whose bones are whitening in battle-fields. Eemember your 
wives and children who perished in swamps. Do you want to 
provoke more hostilities? Another war with the white men, 
and there will not be a Seminole left to tell the story of his 
race." 

Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded by appointing a 
day for the Indians to meet him at St. Marks, and give an 
account of their conduct. He then rode off, without giving 
them time to recover from their surprise. That night he rode 
forty miles to Apalachicola Eiver, to the tribe of the same 
name, who were in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly 
put two hundred and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he 
ordered to be at St. Marks at the appointed day. He sent out 
runners, also, and mustered one hundred of the militia to repair 
to the same place, together with a number of regulars from the 
army. All his arrangements were successful. 

Having taken these measures, he returned to Tallahassee, to 
the neighborhood of the conspirators, to show them that he was 
not afraid. Here he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that 
nine towns were disaffected, and had been concerned in the 
conspiracy. He was careful to inform himself, from the same 
source, of the names of the warriors in each of those towns who 
were most popular, though poor, and destitute of rank and 
command. 

When the appointed day was at hand for the meeting at St. 
Marks, Governor Duval set off with Neamathla, who was at 
the head of eight or nine hundred warriors, but who feared to 
venture into the fort without him. As they entered the fort, 
and saw troops and militia drawn up there, and a force of Apa- 
lachicola soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the river, 
they thought they were betrayed, and were about to fly ; but 
Duval assured them they were safe, and that when the talk 
was over, they might go home unmolested. 

A grand talk was now held, in which the late conspiracy was 



LETTER FROM GRANADA. 155 

discussed. As he had foreseen, Neamathla and the other old 
chiefs threw all the blame upon the young men. "Well," 
replied Duval, "with us white men, when we find a man 
incompetent to govern those under him, we put him down, and 
appoint another in his place. Now, as you all acknowledge 
you cannot manage your young men, we must put ehiefs over 
them who can." 

So saying, he deposed Neamathla first ; appointing another 
in his place ; and so on with all the rest : taking care to sub- 
stitute "the warriors who had been pointed out to him as poor 
and popular ; putting medals round their necks, and investing 
them with great ceremony. The Indians were surprised and 
delighted at finding the appointments fall upon the very men 
they would themselves have chosen, and hailed them with 
acclamations. The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to 
command, and clothed with dignity, were secured to the inter- 
ests of the governor, and sure to keep an eye on the disaffected. 
As to the great chief Neamathla, he left the country in disgust, 
and returned to the Creek nation, who elected him a chief of 
one of their towns. Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt 
sagacity of one man, a dangerous conspiracy was completely 
defeated. Governor Duval was afterward enabled to remove 
the whole nation, through his own personal influence, without 
the aid of the general government. 



To the Editor of the Knickerbocker. 

Sir: The following letter was scribbled to a friend during 
my sojourn in tho Alhambra, in 1828. As it presents scenes 
and impressions noted down at the time, I venture to offer it 
for the consideration of your readers. Should it prove accep- 
table, I may from time to time give other letters, written in the 
course of my various ramblings, and which have been kindly 
restored to me by my friends. Yours, G. C. 

LETTER FROM GRANADA. 

Granada, 1828. 

My Dear : Religious festivals furnish, in all Catholic 

countries^ occasions of popular pageant and recreation^ but in 
none more so than in Spain, where the great end of religion 



156 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

seems to be to create holidays and ceremonials. For two days 
past, Granada has been in a gay turmoil with the great annual 
fete of Corpus Christi. This most eventful and romantic city, 
as you well know, has ever been the rallying point of a moun- 
tainous region, studded with small towns and villages. Hither, 
during the time that Granada was the splendid capital of a 
Moorish ldngdom, the Moslem youth repaired from all points, 
to participate in chivalrous festivities ; and hither the Spanish 
populace at the present day throng from all parts of the sur- 
rounding country to attend the festivals of the church. 

As the populace like to enjoy things from the very com- 
mencement, the stir of Corpus Christi began in Granada on the 
preceding evening. Before dark the gates of the city were 
thronged with the picturesque peasantry from the mountain 
villages, and the brown laborers from the Vega, or vast fertile 
plain. As the evening advanced, the Vivarambla thickened 
and swarmed with a motley multitude. This is the great 
square in the centre of the city, famous for tilts and tourneys 
during the time of Moorish domination, and incessantly men- 
tioned in all the old Moorish ballads of love and chivalry. For 
several days the hammer haol resounded throughout this 
square. A gallery of wood hacl been erected all round it, form- 
ing a covered way for the grand procession of Corpus Christi. 
On this eve of the ceremonial this gallery was a fashionable 
promenade. It was brilliantly illuminated, bands of music 
were stationed in balconies on the four sides of the square, and 
all the fashion and beauty of Granada, and all its population 
that could boast a little finery of apparel, together with the 
majos and majas, the beaux and belles of the villages, in their 
gay Andalusian costumes, thronged this covered walk, anxious 
to see and to be seen. As to the sturdy peasantry of the Vega, 
and such of the mountaineers as did not pretend to display, but 
were content with hearty enjoyment, they swarmed in the 
centre of the square ; some in groups listening to the guitar and 
the traditional ballad; some dancing their favorite bolero; 
some seated on the ground making a merry though frugal 
supper ; and some stretched out for their night's repose. 

The gay crowd of the gallery dispersed gradually toward 
midnight ; but the centre of the square resembled the bivouac 
of an army ; for hundreds of the peasantry, men, women, and 
children, passed the night there, sleeping soundly on the bare 
earth, under the open canopy of heaven. A summer's night 
requires no shelter in this gonial climate; and with a great 



LETTER FROM GRANADA. \tf 

part of the hardy peasantry of Spain, a bed is a superfluity 
which many of them never enjoy, and which they affect to 
despise. The common Spaniard spreads out his manta, or 
mule-cloth, or wraps himself in his cloak, and lies on the 
ground, with his saddle for a pillow. 

The next morning I revisited the square at sunrise. It was 
still strewed with groups of sleepers ; some were reposing from 
the dance and revel of the evening ; others had left their vil- 
lages after work, on the preceding day, and having trudged on 
foot the greater part of the night, were taking a sound sleep to 
freshen them for the festivities of the day. Numbers from the 
mountains, and the remote villages of the plain, who had set 
out in the night, continued to arrive, with their wives and 
children. All were in high spirits; greeting each other, and 
exchanging jokes and pleasantries. The gay tumult thickened 
as the day advanced. Now came pouring in at the city gates, 
and parading through the streets, the deputations from the 
various villages, destined to swell the grand procession. These 
village deputations were headed by their priests, bearing their 
respective crosses and banners, and images of the Blessed Vir- 
gin and of patron saints; all which were matters of great 
rivalship and jealousy among the peasantry. It was like the 
chivalrous gatherings of ancient days, when each town and 
village sent its chiefs, and warriors, and standards, to defend 
the capital, or grace its festivities. 

At length, all these various detachments congregated into 
one grand pageant, which slowly paraded round the Viva- 
rambla, and through the principal streets, where every window 
and balcony was hung with tapestry. In this procession were 
all the religious orders, the civil and military authorities, and 
the chief people of*the parishes and villages ; every church and 
convent had contributed its banners, its images, its reliques, 
and poured forth its wealth, for the occasion. In the centre 
of the procession walked the archbishop, under a damask can- 
opy, and surrounded by inferior dignitaries and their depen- 
dants. The whole moved to the swell and cadence of numerous 
bands of music, and, passing through the midst of a countless 
yet silent multitude, proceeded onward f the cathedral. 

I could not but be struck with the changes of times and cus- 
toms, as I saw this monkish pageant passing through the 
Vivarambla, the ancient seat of modern poinp and chivalry. 
The contrast was indeed forced upon the mind by the decora- 
tions of the square. The whole front of the wooden gallery 



158 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

erected for the procession, extending several hundred feet, was 
faced with canvas, on which some humble though patriotic 
artist had painted, by contract, a series of the principal scenes 
and exploits of the conquest, as recorded in chronicle and 
romance. It is thus the romantic legends of Granada mingle 
themselves with everything, and are kept fresh in the public 
mind. Another great festival at Granada, answering in its 
popular character to our Fourth of July, is El Dia de la Toina ; 
" The Day of the Capture;" that is to say, the anniversary of 
the capture of the city by Ferdinand and Isabella. On this 
day all Granada is abandoned to revelry. The alarm bell on 
the Terre de la Campana, or watch-tower of the Alhambra, 
keeps up a clangor from morn till night; and happy is the 
damsel that can ring that bell ; it is a charm to secure a hus- 
band in the course of the year. 

The sound, which can be heard over the whole Vega, and to 
the top of the mountains, summons the peasantry to the fes- 
tivities. Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown open to 
the public. The halls and courts of the Moorish monarchs 
resound with the guitar and castanet, and gay groups, in the 
fanciful dresses of Andalusia, perform those popular dances 
which they have inherited from the Moors. 

In the meantime a grand procession moves through the city. 
The banner of Ferdinand and Isabella, that precious relique of 
the conquest, is brought forth from its depository, and borne 
by the Alferez Mayor, or grand standard-bearer, through the 
principal streets. The portable camp-altar, which was carried 
about with them in all their campaigns, is transported into the 
chapel royal, and placed before their sepulchre, where their 
effigies he in monumental marble. The procession fills the 
chapel. High mass is performed in memofy of the conquest ; 
and at a certain part of the ceremony the Alferez Mayor puts 
on his hat, and waves the standard above the tomb of the con- 
querors. 

A more whimsical memorial of the conquest is exhibited on 
the same evening at the theatre, where a popular drama is 
performed, entitled Ave Maria. This turns on the oft-sung 
achievement of Hernando del Pulgar, surnamed El de las 
Hazanas, "He of the Exploits," the favorite hero of the popu- 
lace of Granada. 

During the time that Ferdinand and Isabella besieged the 
city, the young Moorish and Spanish knights vied with each 
other in extravagant bravados. On one occasion Hernando "del 



LETTER FROM GRANADA. 159 

Pulgar, at the head of a handful of youthful followers, made a 
dash into Granada at the dead of night, nailed the inscription 
of Ave Maria, with his dagger, to the gate of the principal 
mosque, as a token of having consecrated it to the virgin, and 
effected his retreat in safety. 

While the Moorish cavaliers admired this daring exploit, 
they felt bound to revenge it. On the following day, therefore, 
Tarfe, one of the stoutest of the infidel warriors, paraded in 
front of the Christian army, dragging the sacred inscription of 
Ave Maria at his horse's tail. The cause of the Virgin was 
eagerly vindicated by Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew the Moor 
in single combat, and elevated the inscription of Ave Maria, in 
devotion and triumph, at the end of his lance. 

•The drama founded on this exploit is prodigiously popular 
with the common people. Although it has been acted time out 
of mind, and the -people have seen it repeatedly, it never fails 
to draw crowds, and so completely to engross the feelings of 
the audience, as to have almost the effect on them of reality. 
When their favorite Pulgar strides about with many a mouthy 
speech, in the very midst of the Moorish capital, he is cheered 
with enthusiastic bravos ; and when he nails the tablet of Ave 
Maria to the door of the mosque, the theatre absolutely shakes 
with shouts and thunders of applause. On the other hand, the 
actors who play the part of the Moors, have to bear the brunt 
of the temporary indignation of their auditors ; and when the 
infidel Tarfe plucks down 'the tablet to tie it to Ins horse r s tail, 
many of the people absolutely rise in fury, and are ready to 
jump upon the stage to revenge this insult to the Virgin. 

Beside this annual festival at the capital, almost every vil- 
lage of the Vega and the mountains has its own anniversary, 
wherein its own "deliverance from the Moorish yoke is cele- 
brated with uncouth ceremony and rustic pomp. 

On these occasions a kind of resurrection takes place of 
ancient Spanish dresses and armor ■ great two-handed swords, 
ponderous arquebuses, with match-locks, and other weapons 
and accoutrements, once the equipments of the village chiv- 
alry, and treasured up from generation to generation, since 
the time of the conquest. In these hereditary and historical 
garbs some of the most sturdy of the villagers array themselves 
as champions of the faith, while its ancient opponents are rep 
resented by another band of villagers, dressed up as Moorish 
warriors. A tent is pitched in the public square of the village, 
within which is an altar, and an image of the Virgin, The 



160 TI1E CRAYON PAPERS. 

Spanish warriors approach to perform their devotions at this 
shrine, but are opposed by the infidel Moslems, who surround 
the tent. A mock fight succeeds, in the course of which the 
combatants sometimes forget that they are merely playing a 
part, and exchange dry blows of grievous weight ; the fictitious 
Moors especially are apt to bear away pretty evident marks of 
the pious zeal of their antagonists. The contest, however, in- 
variably terminates in favor of the good cause. The Moors 
are defeated and taken prisoners. The image of the Virgin, 
rescued from thraldom, is elevated in triumph ; and a grand 
procession succeeds, in which the Spanish coixmerors figure 
with great vain-glory and applause, and their captives are led 
in chains, to the infinite delight and edification of the populace. 
These annual festivals are the delight of the villagers, who ex- 
pend considerable sums hi their celebration. In some villages 
they are occasionally obliged to suspend them for want of 
funds ; but when times grow better, or they have been enabled 
to save money for the purpose, they are revived with all their 
grotesque pomp and extravagance. 

To recur to the exploit of Hernando del Pulgar. However 
extravagant and fabulous it may seem, it is authenticated by 
certain traditional usages, and shows the vain-glorious daring 
that prevailed between the youthful warriors of both nations, 
in that romantic war. The mosque thus consecrated to the 
Virgin was made the cathedral of the city after the conquest ; 
and there is a painting of the Virgin beside the royal chapel, 
which was put there by Hernando del Pulgar. The lineal rep- 
resentative of the hare-brained cavalier has the right to this 
day to enter the church, on certain occasions, on horseback, to 
sit within the choir, and to put on his hat at the elevation of 
the host, though these privileges have often been obstinately 
contested by the clergy. 

The present lineal representative of Hernando del Pulgar is 
the Marquis de Salar, whom I have met occasionally in society. 
He is a young man of agreeable appearance and manners, and 
his bright black eyes would give indication of his inheriting 
the fire of his ancestor. When the paintings were put up in 
the Vivarambla, illustrating the scenes of the conquest, an old 
gray-headed family servant of the Pulgars was so delighted 
with those which related to the family hero, that he absolutely 
shed tears, and hurrying home to the Marquis, urged him to 
hasten and behold the family trophies. The sudden zeal of the 
old man provoked the mirth of his young master; upon which 



ABBEUAUMAN. 161 

turning to the brother of the Marquis, with that freedom 
allowed to family servants in Spain, "Come, Seilor," cried he, 
"you are more grave and considerate than your brother; 
come and see your ancestor in all his glory !" 



Within two or three years after the above letter was written, 
the Marquis de Salar was married to the beautiful daughter of 

the Count , mentioned by the author in his anecdotes of 

the Alhambra. The match was very agreeable to all parties, 
and the nuptials were celebrated with great festivity. 



ABDERAHMAN: 

POUNDER OF THE DYNASTY OF THE OMMIADES IN SPAIN. 

To the Editor of the Knickerbocker. 

Sir: In the following memoir I have conformed to the facts 
furnished by the Arabian chroniclers, as cited by the learned 
Conde. The story of Abderahman has almost the charm of 
romance ; but it derives a higher interest from the heroic yet 
gentle virtues which it illustrates, and from recording the for- 
tunes of the founder of that splendid dynasty, which shed such 
a lustre upon Spain during the domination of the Arabs. Ab- 
derahman may, in some respects, be compared to our own 
Washington. He achieved the independence of Moslem Spain, 
freeing it from subjection to the caliphs ; he united its jarring 
parts under one government; he ruled over it with justice, 
clemency, and moderation ; his whole course of conduct was 
distinguished by wonderful forbearance and magnanimity ; and 
when he died he left a legacy of good example and good coun- 
sel to his successors. G. C. 



"Blessed be God!" exclaims an Arabian historian; "in His 
hands alone is the destiny of princes. He overthrows the 
mighty, and humbles the haughty to the dust ; and he raises 
up the persecuted and afflicted from the very depths of de- 
spair I" 

The illustrious house of Omeya had swayed the sceptre at 
Damascus for nearly a century, when a rebellion broke out, 



IQ2 THE CEATON PAPERS. 

headed by Aboul Abbas Safah, who aspired to the throne of 
the caliphs, as being descended from Abbas, the uncle of the 
prophet. The rebellion was successful. Marvau, the last caliph 
of the house of Omeya, was defeated and slain. A general 
proscription of the Onimiades took place. Many of them fell 
in battle ; many were treacherously slain, in places where they 
had taken refuge ; above seventy most noble and distinguished 
were murdered at a banquet to which they had been invited, 
and their dead bodies covered with cloths, and made to serve 
as tables for the horrible festivity. Others were driven forth, 
forlorn and desolate wanderers in various parts of the earth, 
and pursued with relentless hatred ; for it was the determina- 
tion of the usurper that not one of the persecuted family should 
escape. Aboul Abbas took possession of three stately palaces, 
and delicious gardens, and founded the powerful dynasty of the 
Abbassides, which, for several centuries, maintained dominion 
in the east. 

"Blessed be God !" again exclaims the Arabian historian; "it 
was written in His eternal decrees that, notwithstanding the 
fury of the Abbassides, the noble stock of Omeya should not be 
destroyed. One fruitful branch remained to flourish with glory 
and greatness in another land." 

When the sanguinary proscription of the Ommiades took 
place, two young princes of that line, brothers, by the names 
of Solyman and Abderahman, were spared for a time. Their 
personal graces, noble demeanor, and winning' affability, had 
made them many friends, while their extreme youth rendered 
them objects of but little dread to the usurper. Their safety, 
however, was but transient. In a little while the suspicions of 
Aboul Abbas were aroused. The unfortunate Solyman fell be- 
neath the scimitar of the executioner. His brother Abderahman 
was warned of his danger in time. Several of his friends has- 
tened to him, bringing him jewels, a disguise, and a fleet horse, 
"The emissaries of the caliph," said they, "are in search of 
thee ; thy brother lies weltering in his blood ; fly to the desert ! 
There is no safety for thee in the habitations of man !" 

Abderahman took the jewels, clad himself in the disguise, 
and mounting his steed, fled for Ms life. As he passed, a lonely 
fugitive, by the palaces of his ancestors, in which his family 
had long held sway, their very walls seemed disposed to betray 
him, as they echoed the swift clattering of his steed. 

Abandoning his native country, Syria, where he was liable 
at each moment to be recognized and taken, he took refuge 



among the Bedouin Arabs, a half -savage race of shepherds. His 
youth, his inborn majesty and grace, and the sweetness and 
affability that shone forth in his azure eyes, won the hearts of 
these wandering men. He was but twenty years of age, and 
had been reared in the soft luxury of a palace ; but he was tall 
and vigorous, and in a little while hardened himself so com- 
pletely to the rustic life of the fields that it seemed as though 
he had pass«d all his days in the rude simplicity of a shepherd's 
cabin. 

His enemies, however, were upon his traces, and gave him 
but little rest. By day he scoured the plain with the Bedouins, 
hearing in every blast the sound of pursuit, and fancying in 
every distant cloud of dust a troop of the caliph's horsemen. 
His night was passed in broken sleep and frequent watchings, 
and at the earliest dawn he was the first to put the bridle to his 
steed. 

Wearied by these perpetual alarms, he bade farewell to his 
friendly Bedouins, and leaving Egypt behind, sought a safer 
refuge in Western Africa. The province of Barea was at that 
time governed by Aben Habib, who had risen to rank and for- 
tune under the fostering favor of the Ommiades. "Surely," 
thought the unhappy prince, "I shall receive kindness and 
protection from this man ; he will rejoice to show his gratitude 
for the benefits showered upon him by my kindred." 

Abderahman was young, and as yet knew little of mankind. 
None are so hostile to the victim of power as those whom he 
has befriended. They fear being suspected of gratitude by his 
persecutors, and involved in his misfortunes. 

The unfortunate Abderahman had halted for a few days to re- 
pose himself among a horde of Bedouins, who had received him 
with their characteristic hospitality. They would gather round 
him in the evenings, to listen to his conversation, regarding 
with wonder this gently-spoken stranger from the more refined 
country of Egypt. The old men marvelled to find so much 
knowledge and wisdom in such early youth, and the young 
men, won by his frank and manly carriage, entreated him to 
remain among them. 

One night, when all were buried in sleep, they were roused 
by the tramp of horsemen. The Wali Aben Habib, who, like 
all the governors of distant ports, had received orders from the 
caliph to be on the watcfc for the fugitive prince, had heard 
that a young man, answering the description, had entered the 
province alone, from the frontiers of Egypt, on a steed worn 



down by travel. He had immediately sent forth horsemen in 
his pursuit, with orders to bring him to him dead or alive. 
The emissaries of the Wali had traced him to his resting-place, 
and demanded of the Arabs whether a young man, a stranger 
from Syria, did not sojourn among their tribe. The Bedouins 
knew by the description that the stranger must be their guest, 
and feared some evil was intended him. "Such a youth," 
said they, ' ' has indeed sojourned among us ; but he has gone, 
with some of our young men, to a distant vailey, to hunt the 
lion." The emissaries inquired the way to the place, and 
hastened on to surprise their expected prey. 

The Bedouins repaired to Abderahman, who was still sleep- 
ing. "If thou hast aught to fear from man in power," said 
they, " arise and fly ; for the horsemen of the Wali are in quest 
of thee ! We have sent them off for a time on a wrong errand, 
but they will soon return." 

"Alas! whither shall I fly!" cried the unhappy prince; "my 
enemies hunt me like the ostrich of the desert. They follow 
me like the wind, and allow me neither safety nor repose !" 

Six of the bravest youths of the tribe stepped forward. "We 
have steeds, "said they, " that can outstrip the wind, and hands 
that can hurl the javelin. We will accompany thee in thy 
flight, and will fight by thy side while life lasts, and we have 
weapons to wield." 

Abderahman embraced them with tears of gratitude. They 
mounted their steeds, and made for the most lonely parts of 
the desert. By the faint light of the stars, they passed through 
dreary wastes, and over hills of sand. The lion roared, and 
the hyena howled unheeded, for they fled from man, more 
cruel and relentless, when in pursuit of blood, than the savage 
beasts of the desert. 

At sunrise they paused to refresh themselves beside a scanty 
well, surrounded by a few palm-trees. One of the young Arabs 
climbed a tree, and looked in every direction, but not a horse- 
man was to be seen. 

"We have outstripped pursuit," said the Bedouins; "whither 
shall we conduct thee? Where is thy home and the land of 
thy people?" 

" Home have I none !" replied Abderahman, mournfully, "nor 
family, nor kindred! My native land is to me a land of de- 
struction, and my people seek my life !" 

The hearts of the youthful Bedouins were touched with com- 
passion at these words, and they marvelled that one so young 



ABDERAHMAN. 165 

and gentle should have suffered such great sorrow and perse- 
cution. 

Abderahman sat by the well, and mused for a time. At 
length, breaking silence, " In the midst of Mauritania, "said he, 
"dwells the tribe of Zeneta. My mother was of that tribe; 
and perhaps when her son presents himself, a persecuted wan- 
derer, at their door, they will not turn him from the thresh- 
old." 

"The Zenetes," replied the Bedouins, "are among the 
bravest and most hospitable of the people of Africa. Never 
did the unfortunate seek refuge among them in vain, nor 
was the stranger repulsed from their door." So they mount- 
ed their steeds with renewed spirits, and journeyed with all 
speed to Tahart, the capital of the Zenetes. 

When Abderahman entered the place, follov\ r ed by his six 
rustic Arabs, all wayworn and travel-stained, his noble and 
majestic demeanor shone through the simple garb of a Bed- 
ouin. A crowd gathered around him, as he alighted from his 
weary steed. Confiding in the well-known character of the 
tribe, he no longer attempted concealment. 

" You behold before you," said he, "one of the proscribed 
house of Orneya. I am that Abderahman upon whose head a 
price has been set, and who has been driven from land to land. 
I come to you as my kindred. My mother was of your tribe, 
and she told me with her dying breath that in all time of need 
I would find a home and friends among the Zenetes." 

The words of Abderahman went straight to the hearts of his 
hearers. They pitied his youth and his great misfortunes, 
while they were charmed by Ms frankness, and by the manly 
graces. of his person. The tribe was of a bold and generous 
spirit, and not to be awed by the frown of power. ' ' Evil be 
upon us and upon our children," said they, " if we deceive 
the trust thou hast placed in us !" 

Then one of the noblest Xeques took Abderahman to his 
house, and treated him as his own child; and the principal 
people of the tribe strove who most should cherish him, and do 
him honor; endeavoring to obliterate by their kindness the 
recollection of his past misfortunes. 

Abderahman had resided some time among the hospitable 
Zenetes, when one day two strangers, of venerable appearance, 
attended by a small retinue, arrived at Tahart. They gave 
themselves out as merchants, and from the simple" style in 
which they travelled, excited no attention. In a little while 



166 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

they sought out Abderahman, and, taking him apart: 
"Hearken," said they, "Abderahman, of the royal line of 
Omeya ; we are ambassadors sent on the part of the principal 
Moslems of Spain, to offer thee, not merely an asylum, for that 
thou hast already among these brave Zenetes, but an empire ! 
Spain is a prey to distracting factions, and can no longer exist 
as a dependance upon a throne too remote to watch over its 
welfare. It needs to be independent of Asia and Africa, and 
to be under the government of a good prince, who shall reside 
within it, and devote himself entirely to its prosperity; a 
prince with sufficient title to silence all rival claims, and bring 
the warring parties into unity and peace; and at the same 
time with sufficient ability and virtue to insure the welfare of 
his dominions. For this purpose the eyes of all the honorable 
leaders in Spain have been turned to thee, as a descendant of 
the royal line of Omeya, and an offset from the same stock as 
our holy prophet. They have heard of thy virtues, and of thy 
admirable constancy under misfortunes; and invite thee to 
accept the sovereignty of one of the noblest countries in the 
world. Thou wilt have some difficulties to encounter from 
hostile men ; but thou wilt have on thy side the bravest cap, 
tains that have signalized themselves in the conquest of the 
unbelievers." 

The ambassadors ceased, and Abderahman remained for a 
tin>- lost in wonder and admiration. "God is great!" ex- 
claimed he, at length ; ' ' there is but one God, who is God, and 
Mahomet is his prophet! Illustrious ambassadors, you have 
put new life into my soul, for you have shown me something 
to live for. In the few years that I have lived, troubles and 
sorrows have been heaped upon my head, and I have become 
inured to hardships and alarms. Since it is the wish of the 
valiant Moslems of Spain, I am willing to become their leader 
and defender, and devote myself to their cause, be it happy or 
disastrous." 

The ambassadors now cautioned him to be silent as to their 
errand, and to depart secretly for Spain. "The seaboard of 
Africa," said they, " swarms with your enemies, and a power- 
ful faction in Spain would intercept you on landing, did they 
know your name and rank, and the object of your coming. " 

But Abderahman replied: "I have been cherished in adver- 
sity by these brave Zenetes; I have been protected and hon- 
ored by them, when a price was set upon my head, and to 
harbor me was great peril. How can I keep my good fortune 



ABDERAHMAN. 167 

from my benefactors, and desert their hospitable roofs in 
silence? He is unworthy of friendship, who withholds confi- 
dence from his friend." 

Charmed with the generosity of his feelings, the ambassadors 
made no opposition to his wishes. The Zenetes proved them- 
selves worthy of his confidence. They hailed with joy the 
great change in his fortunes. The warriors and the young 
men pressed forward to follow, and aid them with horse and 
weapon; "for the honor of a noble house and family," said 
they, "can be maintained only by lances and horsemen." In 
a few days he set forth, with the ambassadors, at the head of 
nearly a thousand horsemen, skilled in war, and exercised in 
the desert, and a large body of infantry, armed with lances 
The venerable Xeque, with whom he had resided, "blessed him, 
and shed tears over him at parting, as though he had been his 
own child ; and when the youth passed over the threshold, the 
house was filled with lamentations. 

Abderahman reached Spain in safety, and landed at Almane- 
car, with his little band of warlike Zenetes. Spam was at that 
time in a state of greai confusion. Upward of forty years 
had elapsed since tne conquest. The civil wars in Syria and 
Egypt had prevented the main government at Damascus from 
exercising control over this distant and recently acquired ter- 
ritory. Every Moslem commander considered the town or 
province committed to his charge, an absolute property ; and 
accordingly exercised the most arbitrary extortions. These 
excesses at length became insupportable, and, at a convocation 
of many of the principal leaders, it was determined, as a means 
to end these dissensions, to unite all the Moslem provinces of 
Spain under one Emir, or General Governor. Yusuf el Fehri, 
an ancient man, of honorable lineage, was chosen for this 
station. He began his reign with policy, and endeavored to 
conciliate all parties; but the distribution of offices soon 
created powerful enemies among the disappointed leaders. A 
civil war was the consequence, and Spain was deluged with 
blood. The troops of both parties burned and ravaged and 
laid everything waste, to distress their antagonists; the vil- 
lages were abandoned by their inhabitants, who fled to the 
cities for refuge ; and flourishing towns disappeared from the 
face of the earth, or remained mere heaps of rubbish and 
ashes. At the time of the landing of Abderahman in Spain, the 
old Emir Yusuf had obtained a signal victory. He had cap- 
tured Saragossa, in which was Ameer ben Amru, his principal 



1(38 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

enemy, together with his son and secretary. Loading his pri- 
soners with chains, and putting them on camels, he set out in 
{ .iumph for Cordova, considering himself secure in the abso- 
lute domination of Spain. 

He had halted one day in a valley called Wadarambla, and 
was reposing with his family in his pavilion, while his people 
and the prisoners made a repast in the open air. In the midst 
of his repose, his confidential adherent and general, the Wali 
Samael, galloped into the camp covered with dust, and ex- 
hausted with fatigue. He brought tidings of the arrival of 
Abderahman, and that the whole sea-board Avas flocking to his 
standard. Messenger after messenger came hurrying into the 
camp, confirming the fearful tidings, and adding that this 
descendant of the Omeyas had secretly been invited to Spain 
by Amru and his followers. Yusuf waited not to ascertain 
the truth of this accusation. Giving way to a transport of 
fury, he ordered that Amru, his son and secretary, should 
be cut to pieces. His commands were instantly executed. 
"And this cruelty," says the Arabian chronicler, "lost him 
the favor of Allah ; for from that time, success deserted his 
standard." 

Abderahman had indeed been hailed with joy on his landing 
in Spain. The old people hoped to find tranquillity under the 
sway of one supreme chieftain, descended from their ancient 
caliphs; the young men were rejoiced to have a youthful war- 
rior to lead them on to victories ; and the populace, charmed 
with his freshness and manly beauty, his majestic yet gracious 
and affable demeanor, shouted : • ' Long live Abderahman ben 
Moavia Meramamolin of Spain I" 

In a few days the youthful sovereign saw himself at the 
head of more than twenty thousand men, from the neighbor- 
hood of Elvira, Almeria, Malaga, Xeres, and Sidonia. Fair 
Seville threw open its gates at his approach, and celebrated his 
arrival with public rejoicings. He continued his march into 
the country, vanquished one of the sons of Yusuf before the 
gates of Cordova, .and obliged him to take refuge within its 
walls, where he held him in close siege. Hearing, however, of 
the approach of Yusuf, the father, with a powerful army, he 
divided his forces, and leaving ten thousand men to press the 
siege, he hastened with the other ten to meet the coming foe. 

Yusuf had indeed mustered a formidable force, from the 
east and south of Spain, and accompanied by his veteran gene- 
ral, Samael, came with confident boasting to drive this in- 



ABDERAHMAN. 169 

truder from the land. His confidence increased on beholding 
the small army of Abderahman. Turning to Samael, he re- 
peated, with a scornful sneer, a verse from an Arabian poetess, 
which says : 

"How hard is our lot! We come, a thirsty multitude, and 
lo ! but this cup of water to Shane among us !" 

There was indeed a fearful odds. On the one side were two 
veteran generals, grown gray in victory, with a mighty host 
of warriors, seasoned in the wars of Spain. On the other side 
was a mere youth, scarce attained to manhood, with a hasty 
levy of half -disciplined troops; but the youth was a prince, 
flushed with hope, and aspiring after fame and empire; and 
surrounded by a devoted band of warriors from Africa, whose 
example infused desperate zeal into the little army. 

The encounter took place at daybreak. The impetuous valor 
of the Zenetes carried everything before it. The cavalry of 
Yusuf was broken, and driven back upon the infantry, and 
before noon the whole host was put to headlong flight. Yusuf 
and Samael were borne along in the torrent of the fugitives, 
raging and storming, and making ineffectual efforts to rally 
them. They were separated widely in the confusion of the 
flight, one taking refuge in the Algarves, the other in the 
kingdom of Murcia. They afterward rallied, reunited their 
forces, and made another desperate stand near Almunecar. 
The battle was obstinate and bloody, but they were again 
defeated, and driven, with a handful of followers, to take 
refuge in the rugged mountains adjacent to Elvira. 

The spirit of the veteran Samael gave way before these fear- 
ful reverses. "In vain, O Yusuf!" said he, "do we contend 
with the prosperous star of this youthful conqueror : the will 
of Allah be done ! Let us submit to our fate, and sue for favor- 
able terms, while we have yet the means of capitulation." 

It was a hard trial for the proud spirit of Yusuf, that had 
once aspired to uncontrolled sway ; but he was compelled to 
capitulate. Abderahman was as generous as brave. He 
granted the two gray -headed generals the most honorable con- 
ditions, and even took the veteran Samael into favor, employ- 
ing him, as a mark of confidence, to visit the eastern provinces 
of Spain, and restore them to tranquillity. Yusuf, having de- 
livered up Elvira and Granada, and complied with other arti- 
cles of his capitulation, was permitted to retire to Murcia, and 
rejoin his son Muhamad. A general amnesty to all chiefs and 
soldiers who should yield up their strongholds, and lay down 



170 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

their arms, completed the triumph of Abderahman, and brought 
all hearts into obedience. 

Thus terminated this severe struggle for the domination of 
Spain; and thus the illustrious family of Omeya, after having 
been cast down and almost exterminated in the East, took new 
root, and sprang forth prosperously in the West. 

Wherever Abderahman appeared, he was received with rap- 
turous acclamations. As he rode through the cities, the popu- 
lace rent the air with shouts of joy ; the stately palaces were 
crowded with spectators, eager to gain a sight of his graceful 
form and beaming countenance; and when they beheld the 
mingled majesty and benignity of their new monarch, and the 
sweetness and gentleness of his whole conduct, they extolled 
him as something more than mortal ; as a beneficent genius, 
sent for the happiness of Spain. 

In the interval of peace which now succeeded, Abderahman 
occupied himself in promoting the useful and elegant arts, and 
in introducing into Spain the refinements of the East. Con- 
sidering the building and ornamenting of cities as among the 
noblest employments of the tranquil hours of princes, he be- 
stowed great pains upon beautifying the city of Cordova and 
its environs. He reconstructed banks and dykes, to keep the 
Guadalquiver from overflowing its borders, and. on the vast 
terraces thus formed, he planted delightful gardens. In the 
midst of these, he erected a lofty tower, commanding a view 
of the vast and fruitful valley, enlivened by the windings of the 
river. In this tower he would pass hours of meditation, gaz- 
ing on the soft and varied landscape, and innaling the bland 
and balmy airs of that delightful region. At such times, his 
thoughts would recur to the past, and the misfortunes of his 
youth; the massacre of his family would rise to view, mingled 
with tender recollections of his native country, from which he 
was exiled. In these melancholy musings he would sit with 
Ms eyes fixed upon a palm-tree which he had planted in the 
midst of his garden. It is said to have been the first ever 
planted in Spain, and to have been the parent-stock of all the 
palm-trees which grace the southern provinces of the peninsula. 
The heart of Abderahman yearned toward this tree ; it was the 
offspring of his native country, and like him, an exile. In one 
of his moods of tenderness, he composed verses upon it, which 
have since become famous throughout the world. The follow- 
ing is a rude but literal translation : 
" Beauteous Palm! thou also wert hither brought a stranger; 



ABDERAHMAN. 171 

but thy roots have found a kindly soil, thy head is lifted to 
the skies, and the sweet airs of Algarve fondle and kiss thy 
branches. 

" Thou hast known, like me, the storms of adverse fortune. 
Bitter tears wouldst thou shed, couldst thou feel my woes. 
Eepeated griefs have overwhelmed me. With early tears I be- 
dewed the palms on the banks of the Euphrates ; but neither 
tree nor river heeded my sorrows, when driven by cruel fate, 
and the ferocious Aboul Abbas, from the scenes of my child- 
hood and the sweet objects of my affection. 

"To thee no remembrance remains of my beloved country; 
I, unhappy! can never recall it without tears." 

The generosity of Abderahman to his vanquished foes was 
destined to be abused. The veteran Yusuf , in visiting certain 
of the cities which he had surrendered, found himself sur- 
rounded by zealous partisans, ready to peril life in his service. 
The love of command revived in his bosom, and he repented 
the facility with which he had suffered himself to be persuaded 
to submission. Flushed with new hopes of success, he caused 
arms to be secretly collected, and deposited in various villages, 
most zealous in their professions of devotion, and raising a con- 
siderable body of troops, seized upon the castle of Almodovar. 
The rash rebellion was short-lived. At the first appearance of 
an army sent by Abderahman, and commanded by Aodelme- 
lee, governor of Seville, the villages which had so recently pro- 
fessed loyalty to Yusuf, hastened to declare their attachment 
to the monarch, and to give up the concealed arms. Almodo- 
var was soon retaken, and Yusuf, driven to the environs of 
Lorea, was surrounded by the cavalry of Abdelmelee. The 
veteran endeavored to cut a passage through the enemy but 
after fighting with desperate fury, and with a force of arm in- 
credible in one of his age, he fell beneath blows from weapons 
of all kinds, so that after the battle his body could scarcely be 
recognized, so numerous were the wounds. His head was cut 
off and sent to Cordova, where it was placed in an iron cage, 
over the gate of the city. 

The old lion was dead, but his whelps survived. Yusuf had 
left three sons, who inherited his warlike spirit, and were eager 
to revenge his death. Collecting a number of the scattered 
adherents of their house, they surprised and seized upon To- 
ledo, during the absence of Temam, its Wali or commander. 
In this old warrior city, built upon a rock, and almost sur- 
rounded by the Tagus, they set up a kind of robber hold, 



172 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

scouring the surrounding country, levying tribute, seizing upon 
horses, and compelling the peasantry to join their standard. 
Every day cavalcades of horses and mules, laden with spoil, 
with flocks of sheep and droves of cattle, came pouring over 
the bridges on either side of the city, and thronging in at the 
gates, the plunder of the surrounding country. Those of the 
inhabitants who were still loyal to Abderahman dared not lift 
up then voices, for men of the sword bore sway. At length 
one day, when the sons of Yusuf , with their choicest troops, 
were out on a maraud, the watchmen on the towers gave the 
alarm. A troop of scattered horsemen were spurring wildly 
toward the gates. The banners of the sons of Yusuf were 
descried. Two of them spurred into the city, followed by a 
handful of warriors, covered with confusion and dismay. 
They had been encountered and defeated by the Wali Temam, 
and one of the brothers had been slain. 

The gates were secured in all haste, and the walls were 
scarcely manned, when Temam appeared before them with his 
troops, and summoned the city to surrender. A great internal 
commotion ensued between the loyalists and the insurgents; 
the latter, however, had weapons in their hands, and prevailed ; 
and for several days, trusting to the strength of their rock- 
built fortress, they set the Wali at defiance. At length some 
of the loyal inhabitants of Toledo, who knew all its secret and 
subterraneous passages, some of which, if chroniclers may be 
believed, have existed since the days of Hercules, if not of 
Tubal Cain, introduced Temam and a chosen band of his war- 
riors into the very centre of the city, where they suddenly 
appeared as if by magic. A panic seized upon the insurgents. 
Some sought safety in submission, some in concealment, some 
in flight. Casim, one of the sons of Yusuf, escaped in disguise ; 
the youngest, unarmed, was taken, and was sent captive to 
the king, accompanied by the head of his brother, who had been 
slain in battle. 

When Abderahman beheld the youth laden with chains, he 
remembered his own sufferings in his early days, and had com- 
passion on him ; but, to prevent him from doing further mis- 
chief, he imprisoned him in a tower of the wall of Cordova. 

In the meantime Casim, who had escaped, managed to raise 
another band of warriors. Spain, in all ages a guerilla coun- 
try, prone to partisan warfare and petty maraud, was at that 
time infested by bands of licentious troops, who had sprung 
up in the civil contests; their only object pillage, their only 



ABDERAHMAN. 173 

dependence the sword, and ready to flock to any new and 
desperate standard, that promised the greatest license. With 
a ruffian force thus levied, Casim scoured the country, took 
Sidonia by storm, and surprised Seville while in a state of 
unsuspecting security. 

Abderahman put himself at the head of his faithful Zenetes, 
and took the field in person. By the rapidity of his move- 
ments, the rebels were defeated, Sidonia and Seville speedily 
retaken, and Casim was made prisoner. The generosity of 
Abderahman was again exhibited toward this unfortunate son 
of Yusuf . He spared his life, and sent him to be confined in a 
tower at Toledo. 

The veteran Samael had taken no part in these insurrections, 
but had attended faithfully to the affairs intrusted to him by 
Abderahman. The death of his old friend and colleague, 
Yusuf, however, and the subsequent disasters of his family, 
filled him with despondency. Fearing the inconstancy of for- 
tune, and the dangers incident to public employ, he entreated 
the king to be permitted to retire to his house in Seguenza, 
and indulge a privacy and repose suited to his advanced age. 
His prayer was granted. The veteran laid by his arms, bat- 
tered hi a thousand conflicts ; hung his sword and lance against 
the wall, and, surrounded by a few friends, gave himself up 
apparently to the sweets of quiet and unambitious leisure. 

Who can count, hoAvever, upon the tranquil content of a 
heart nurtured amid the storms of war and ambition ! Under 
the ashes of this outward humility were glowing the coals of 
faction. In his seemingly philosophical retirement, Samael was 
concerting with his friends new treason against Abderahman. 
His plot was discovered ; his house was suddenly surrounded 
by troops ; and he was conveyed to a tower at Toledo, where, 
in the course of a few months, he died in captivity. 

The magnanimity of Abderahman was again put to the 
proof, by a new insurrection at Toledo. Hixem ben Adra, a 
relation of Yusuf, seized upon the Alcazar, or citadel, slew 
several of the royal adherents of the king, liberated Casim 
from his tower, and, summoning all the banditti of the coun- 
try, soon mustered a force of ten thousand men. Abderahman 
was quickly before the walls of Toledo, with the troops of 
Cordova and his devoted Zenetes. The rebels were brought to 
terms, and surrendered the city on promise of general pardon, 
which was extended even to Hixem and Casim. When the 
chieftains saw Hifcem and his principal confederates ht the 



174 TIlE CRAYON PAPERS. 

power of Abderahman, they advised him to put them all to 
death. "A promise given to traitors and rebels," said they, 
"is not binding, when it is to the interest of the state that it 
should be broken." 

' ' No !" replied Abderahman, ' ' if the safety of my throne were 
at stake, I would not break my word." So saying, he con- 
firmed the amnesty, and granted Hixem ben Adra a worthless 
life, to be employed in farther treason. 

Scarcely had Abderahman returned from this expedition, 
vvrhen a powerful army, sent by the caliph, landed from Africa 
on the coast of the Algarves. The commander, Aly ben 
Mogueth, Emir of Cairvan, elevated a rich banner which he 
had received from the hands of the caliph. Wherever he 
went, he ordered the caliph of the East to be proclaimed by 
sound of trumpet, denouncing Abderahman as a usurper, the 
vagrant member of a family proscribed and execrated in all 
the mosques of the East. 

One of the first to join his standard was Hixem ben Adra, so 
recently pardoned by Abderahman. He seized upon the cita- 
del of Toledo, and repairing to the camp of Aly, offered to 
deliver the city into his hands. 

Abderahman, as bold in war as he was gentle in peace, took 
the field with his wonted promptness ; overthrew his enemies, 
with great slaughter, drove some to the sea-coast to regain 
their ships, and others to the mountains. The body of Aly was 
found on the field of battle. Abderahman caused the head to 
be struck off, and conveyed to Cairvan, where it was affixed 
at night to a column in the public .square, with this inscription : 
"Thus Abderahman, the descendant of the Omeyas, punishes 
the rash and arrogant." Hixem ben Adra escaped from the 
field of battle, and excited farther troubles, but was eventually 
captured by Abdelmeleej who ordered his head to be struck 
off on the spot, lest he should again be spared, through the 
wonted clemency of Abderahman. 

Notwithstanding these signal triumphs, the reign of Abder- 
ahman was disturbed by farther insurrections, and by another 
descent from Africa, but he was victorious over them all; 
striking the roots of his power deeper and deeper into the land. 
Under his sway, the government of Spain became more reg- 
ular and consolidated, and acquired an independence of the 
empire of the East. The caliph continued to be considered as 
first pontiff and chief of the religion, but he ceased to have any 
temporal power over Spain, 



ABDERAHMAN. 175 

Having again an interval of peace, Abderahman devoted 
himself to the education of his children. Suleiman, the eldest, 
he appointed Wali, or governor, of Toledo; Abdallah, the 
second, was intrusted with the command of Merida ; but the 
third son, Hixem, was the delight of his heart, the son of 
Howara, his favorite sultana, whom he loved throughout life 
with the utmost tenderness. With this youth, who was full 
of promise, he relaxed from the fatigues of government ; join- 
ing in his youthful sports amid the delightful gardens of Cor- 
dova, and teaching him the gentle art of falconry, of which 
the king was so fond that he received the name of the Falcon 
of Coraixi. 

While Abderahman was thus indulging in the gentle pro- 
pensities of his nature, mischief was secretly at work. Muha- 
mad, the youngest son of Yusuf , had been for many years a 
prisoner in the tower of Cordova. Being passive and resigned, 
his keepers relaxed their vigilance, and brought him forth 
from his dungeon. He went groping about, however, in 
broad daylight, as if still in the darkness of his tower. His 
guards watched him narrowly, lest this should be a deception, 
but were at length convinced that the long absence of light 
had rendered him blind. They now permitted him to descend 
frequently to the lower chambers of the tower, and to sleep 
there occasionally, during the heats of summer. They even 
allowed him to grope his way to the cistern, in quest of water 
for his ablutions. 

A year passed in this way without anything to excite sus- 
picion. During all this time, however, the blindness of Muha- 
mad was entirely a deception; and he was concerting a plan 
of escape, through the aid of some friends of his father, who 
found means to visit him occasionally. One sultry evening 
in midsummer, the guards had gone to bathe in the Guadal- 
quiver, leaving Muhamad alone, in the lower chambers of the 
tower. No sooner were they out of sight and hearing, than he 
hastened to a window of the stair-case, leading down to the 
cistern, lowered himself as far as his arms would reach, and 
dropped without injury to the ground. Plunging into the 
Guadalquiver, he swam across to a thick grove on the opposite 
side, where his friends were waiting to receive him. Here, 
mounting a horse which they had provided for an event of the 
kind, he fled across the country, by solitary roads, and made 
good his escape to the mountains of Jaen. 

The guardians of the tower dreaded for some time to make 



176 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

known his flight to Abderahman. When at length it was told 
to him, he exclaimed: "All is the work of eternal wisdom; it 
is intended to teach us that we cannot benefit the wicked with- 
out injuring the good. The flight of that blind man will cause 
much trouble and bloodshed." 

His predictions were verified. Muhamad reared the stan- 
dard of rebellion on the mountains ; the seditious and discon- 
tented of all kinds hastened to join it, together with soldiers 
of fortune, or rather wandering banditti, and he had soon six 
thousand men, well armed, hardy in habits, and desperate 
in character. His brother Casim also reappeared about the 
same time in the mountains of Ronda, at the head of a daring 
band that laid all the neighboring valleys under contribution. 

Abderahman summoned his alcaydes from their various mili- 
tary posts, to assist in driving the rebels from their mountain 
fastnesses into the plains. It was a dangerous and protracted 
toil, for the mountains were frightfully wild and rugged. He 
entered them with a powerful host, driving the rebels from 
height to height and valley to valley, and harassing them by a 
galling fire from thousands of cross-bows. At length a deci- 
sive battle took place near the river Guadalemar. The rebels 
were signally defeated; four thousand fell in action, many 
were drowned in the river, and Muhamad, with a few horse- 
men, escaped to the mountains of the Algarves. Here he was 
hunted by the alcaydes from one desolate retreat to another; 
his few followers grew tired of sharing the disastrous fortunes 
of a fated man ; one by one deserted him, and he himself de- 
serted the remainder, fearing they might give him up, to pur- 
chase their own pardon. 

Lonely and disguised, he plunged into the depths of the 
forests, or lurked in dens and caverns, like a famished wolf, 
often casting back his thoughts with regret to the time of his 
captivity in the gloomy tower of Cordova. Hunger at length 
drove him to Alarcon, at the risk of being discovered. Famine 
and misery, however, had so wasted and changed him, that he 
was not recognized. He remained nearly a year in Alarcon, 
unnoticed and unknown, yet constantly tormenting himself 
with the dread of discovery, and with groundless fears of the 
vengeance of Abderahman. Death at length put an end to his 
wretchedness. 

A milder fate attended his brother Casim. Being defeated 
in the mountains of Murcia, he was conducted in chains to 
Cordova. On coming into the presence of Abderahman, his 



ABDERAHMAN. 177 

once fierce and haughty spirit, broken by distress, gave way ; 
he threw himself on the earth, kissed the dust beneath the feet 
of the king, and implored his clemency. The benignant heart 
of Abderahman was filled with melancholy, rather than exul- 
tation, at beholding this wreck of the once haughty family of 
Yusuf a suppliant at his feet, and suing for mere existence. 
He thought upon the mutability of fortune, and felt how in- 
secure are all her favors. He raised the unhappy Casim from 
the earth, ordered his irons to be taken off, and, not content 
with mere forgiveness, treated him with honor, and gave him 
possessions in Seville, where he might five in state conform- 
able to the ancient dignity of his family. Won by this great 
and persevering magnanimity, Casim ever after remained one 
of the most devoted of his subjects. 

All the enemies of Abderahman were at length subdued ; he 
reigned undisputed sovereign of the Moslems of Spain ; and so 
benign was his government, that every one blessed the revival 
of the illustrious line of Omeya. He was at all times accessible 
to the humblest of his subjects : the poor man ever found in 
him a friend, and the oppressed a protector. He unproved the 
administration of justice ; established schools for public instruc- 
tion ; encouraged poets and men of letters, and cultivated the 
sciences. He built mosques in every city that he visited ; in- 
culcated religion by example as well as by precept ; and cele- 
brated all the festivals prescribed by the Koran, with the 
utmost magnificence. 

As a monument of gratitude to God for the prosperity with 
which he had been favored, he undertook to erect a mosque in 
his favorite city of Cordova, that should rival in splendor the 
great mosque of Damascus, and excel the one recently erected 
in Bagdad by the Abbassides, the supplanters of his family. 

It is said that he himself furnished the plan for this famous 
edifice, and even worked on it, with his own hands, one hour 
in each day, to testify his zeal and humility in the service of 
God, and to animate his workmen. He did not live to see it 
completed, but it was finished according to his plans by his 
son Hixem. When finished, it surpassed the most splendid 
mosques of the east. It was six hundred feet in length, and 
two hundred and fifty in breadth. Within were twenty-eight 
aisles, crossed by nineteen, supported by a thousand and ninety- 
three columns of marble. There were nineteen portals, covered 
with plates of bronze of rare workmanship. The principal 
portal was covered with plates of gold. On the summit of the 



178 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

grand cupola were three gilt balls surmounted by a golden 
pomegranate. At night, the mosque was illuminated with 
four thousand seven hundred lamps, and great sums were 
expended in amber and aloes, which were burned as perfumes. 
The mosque remains to this day, shorn of its ancient splendor, 
yet still one of the grandest Moslem monuments in Spain. 

Finding himself advancing in years, Abderahman assembled 
in his capital of Cordova the principal governors and com- 
manders of his kingdom, and in presence of them all, with 
great solemnity, nominated his son Hixem as the successor to 
the throne. All present made an oath of fealty to Abderah- 
man during his life, and to Hixem after his death. The prince 
was younger than his brothers, Soleiman and Abdallah; but 
he was the son of Howara, the tenderly beloved sultana of 
Abderahman, and her influence, it is said, gained him this 
preference. 

Within a few months afterward, Abderahman fell grievously 
sick at Merida. Finding his end approaching, he summoned 
Hixem to his bedside: "My son," said he, " the angel of death 
is hovering over me ; treasure up, therefore, in thy heart this 
dying counsel, which I give through the great love I bear thee. 
Eemember that all empire is from God, who gives and takes it 
away, according to his pleasure. Since God, through his 
divine goodness, has given us regal power and authority, let 
us do his holy wu% which is nothing else than to do good to all 
men, and especially to those committed to our protection. 
Render equal justice, my son, to the rich and the poor, and 
never suffer injustice to be done within thy dominion, for it is 
the road to perdition. Be merciful and benignant to those 
dependent upon thee. Confide the government of thy cities 
and provinces to men of worth and experience ; punish without 
compassion those ministers who oppress thy people with exor- 
bitant exactions. Pay thy troops punctually; teach them to 
feel a certainty in thy promises ; command them with gentle- 
ness but firmness, and make them in truth the defenders of 
the state, not its destroyers. Cultivate unceasingly the affec- 
tions of thy people, for in their good-will consists the security 
of the state, in their distrust its peril, in their hatred its cer- 
tain ruin. Protect the husbandmen who cultivate the earth, 
and yield us necessary sustenance ; never permit their fields, 
and groves, and gardens to be disturbed. In a word, act in 
such wise that thy people may bless thee, and may enjoy, 
under the shadow of thy wing, a secure and tranquil life. In 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 179 

this consists good government; if thou dost practise it, thou 
wilt be happy among thy people, and renowned throughout 
the world." 

Having given this excellent counsel, the good king Abderah- 
man blessed his son Hixem, and shortly after died ; being but 
in the sixtieth year of his age. He was interred with great 
pomp ; but the highest honors that distinguished his funeral 
were the tears of real sorrow shed upon his grave. He left 
behind him a name for valor, justice, and magnanimity, and 
forever famous as being the founder of the glorious line of the 
Ommiades in Spain. 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL, 

OR A JUDICIAL TRIAL BY COMBAT. 

The world is daily growing older and wiser. Its institutions 
vary with its years, and mark its growing wisdom ; and none 
more so than its modes of investigating truth, and ascertaining 
guilt or innocence. In its nonage, when man was yet a fallible 
being, and doubted the accuracy of Ins own intellect, appeals 
were made to heaven in dark and doubtful cases of atrocious 
accusation. 

The accused was required to plunge his hand in boiling oil, 
or to walk across red-hot ploughshares, or to maintain his 
innocence in armed fight and listed field, in person or by 
champion. If he passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood 
acquitted, and the result was regarded as a verdict from on 
high. 

It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant age of 
chivalry, the gentler sex should have been most frequently the 
subjects of these rude trials and perilous ordeals; and that, 
too, when assailed in their most delicate and vulnerable part — 
their honor. 

In the present very old and enlightened age of the world, 
when the human intellect is perfectly competent to the man- 
agement of its own concerns, and needs no special interposition 
of heaven in its affairs, the trial by jury has superseded these 
superhuman ordeals ; and the unanimity of twelve discordant 
minds is necessary to constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity 
would, at first sight, appear also to require a miracle from 
heaven; but it is produced by a simple device of human 



180 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ingenuity. The twelve jurors are locked up in their box, there 
to fast until abstinence shall have so clarified their intellects 
that the whole jarring panel can discern the truth, and concur 
in a unanimous decision. One point is certain, that truth is 
one, and is immutable — until the jurors all agree, they cannot 
all be right. 

It is not our intention, however, to discuss this great judicial 
point, or to question the avowed superiority of the mode of 
investigating truth adopted in this antiquated and very saga- 
cious era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the curious 
reader one of the most memorable cases of judicial combat we 
find in the annals of Spain. It occurred at the bright com- 
mencement of the reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, 
glorious days, of Roderitck the Goth; who subsequently tar- 
nished his fame at home by his misdeeds, and, finally, lost his 
kingdom and his life on the banks of the Guadalete, in that 
disastrous battle which gave up Spain a conquest to the Moors. 
The following is the story : 

There was once upon a time a certain duke of Lorraine, who 
was acknowledged throughout his domains to be one of the 
wisest princes that ever lived. In fact, there was no one 
measure adopted by him that did not astonish his privy coun- 
sellors, and gentlemen in attendance ; and he said such witty 
things, and made such sensible speeches, that the 'jaws ot his 
high chamberlain were well-nigh dislocated from laughing with 
delight at one, and gaping with wonder at the other. 

This very witty and exceedingly wise potentate lived for 
half a century in single-blessedness; at length his courtiers 
began to think it a great pity so wise and wealthy a prince 
should not have a child after his own likeness, to inherit his 
talents and domains ; so they urged him most respectfully to 
marry, for the good of his estate, and the welfare of his sub- 
jects. 

He turned their advice over in his mind some four or five 
years, and then sent forth emissaries to summon to his court 
all the beautiful maidens in the land who were ambitious of 
sharing a ducal crown. The court was soon crowded with 
beauties of all styles and complexions, from among whom he 
chose one in the earliest budding of her charms, and acknow- 
ledged by all the gentlemen to be unparalleled for grace and 
loveliness. The courtiers extolled the duke to the skies for 
making such a choice, and considered it another proof of his 
great wisdom. " The duke," said they, "is waxing a little too 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 181 

old, the damsel, on the other hand, is a little too young ; if one 
is lacking in years, the other has a superabundance; thus a 
want on one side is balanced by the excess on the other, and 
the result is a well-assorted marriage." 

The duke, as is often the case with wise men who marry 
rather late, and take damsels rather youthful to their bosoms, 
became dotingly fond of his wife, and very properly indulged 
her in all things. He was, consequently, cried up by his sub- 
jects in general, and by the ladies in particular, as a pattern 
for husbands ; and, in the end, from the wonderful docility 
with which he submitted to be reined and checked, acquired 
the amiable and enviable appellation of Duke Philibert the 
wife-ridden. 

There was only one thing that disturbed the conjugal felicity 
of this paragon of husbands — though a considerable time 
elapsed after his marriage, there was still no prospect of an 
heir. The good duke left no means untried to propitiate 
Heaven. He made vows and pilgrimages, he fasted and he 
prayed, but all to no purpose. The courtiers were all aston- 
ished at the circumstance. They could not account for it. 
While the meanest peasant in the country had sturdy brats by 
dozens, without putting up a prayer, the duke wore himself to 
skin and bone with penances and fastings, yet seemed farther 
off from his-object than ever. 

At length, the worthy prince fell dangerously ill, and felt his 
end approaching. He looked sorrowfully and dubiously upon 
his young and tender spouse, who hung over him with tears 
and sobbings. "Alas!" said he, "tears are soon dried from 
youthful eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a youthful heart. In 
a little while thou wilt forget in the arms of another husband 
him who has loved thee so tenderly." 

"Never! never!" cried the duchess. " Never will I cleave 
to another ! Alas, that my lord should think me capable of 
such inconstancy !" 

The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed by her assur- 
ances ; for he could not brook the thought of giving her up 
even after he should be dead. Still he wished to have some 
pledge of her enduring constancy : 

"Far be it from me, my dearest wife," said he, "to control 
thee through a long life. A year and a day of strict fidelity 
will appease my troubled spirit. Promise to remain faithful to 
my memory for a year and a day, and I will die in peace." 

The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect, but the uxori- 



182 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ous feelings of the duke were not yet satisfied. * ' Safe bind, safe 
find," thought he; so he made a will, bequeathing to her all his 
domains, on condition of her remaining true to him for a year 
and a day after his decease ; but, should it appear that, within 
that time, she had in anywise lapsed from her fidelity, the in- 
heritance should go to his nephew, the lord of a neighboring 
territory. 

-Having made his will, the good duke died and was buried. 
Scarcely was he in his tomb, when his nephew came to take 
possession, thinking, as his uncle had died without issue, the 
domains would be devised to him of course. He was in a furi- 
ous passion, when the will was produced, and the young widow 
declared inheritor of the dukedom. As he was a violent, high- 
handed man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, fears 
were entertained that he might attempt to seize on the terri- 
tories by force. He had, however, two bachelor uncles for 
bosom counsellors, swaggering, rakehelly old cavaliers, who, 
having led loose and riotous lives, prided themselves upon 
knowing the world, and being deeply experienced in human 
nature. "Prithee, man, be of good cheer," said they, "the 
duchess is a young and buxom widow. She has just buried 
our brother, who, God rest his soul ! was somewhat too much 
given to praying and fasting, and kept his pretty wife always 
tied to his girdle. She is now like a bird from a cage. Think 
you she will keep her vow? Pooh, pooh— impossible ! Take 
our words for it — we know mankind, and, above all, woman- 
kind. She cannot hold out for such a length of time ; it is not 
in womanhood — it is not in widowhood —we know it, and that's 
enough. Keep a sharp look-out upon the widow, therefore, 
and within the twelvemonth you will catch her tripping— and 
then the dukedom is your own." 

The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and immediately 
placed spies round the duchess, and bribed several of her ser- 
vants to keep watch upon her, so that she could not take a 
single step, even from one apartment of her palace to another, 
without being observed. Never was young and beautiful 
widow exposed to so terrible an ordeal. 

The duchess was aware of the watch thus kept upon her. 
Though confident of her own rectitude, she knew that it is not 
enough for a woman to be virtuous— she must be above the 
reach of slander. For the whole term of her probation, there- 
fore, she proclaimed a strict non-intercourse with the other 
Bex. She had females for cabinet ministers and chamberlains, 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 183 

through whom she transacted all her public and private con- 
cerns ; and it is said that never were the affairs of the duke- 
dom so adroitly administered. 

All males were rigorously excluded from the palace; she 
never went out of its precincts, and whenever she moved about 
its courts and gardens, she surrounded herself with a body- 
guard of young maids of honor, commanded by dames re- 
nowned for discretion. She slept in a bed without curtains, 
placed in the centre of a room illuminated by innumerable wax 
tapers. Four ancient spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect, 
dragons of watchfulness, who only slept during the daytime, 
kept vigils throughout the night, seated in the four corners of 
the room on stools without backs or arms, and with seats cut 
in checkers of the hardest wood, to keep them from dozing. 

Thus wisely and warily did the young duchess conduct her- 
self for twelve long months, and slander almost bit her tongue 
off in despair, at finding no room even for a surmise. Never 
was ordeal more burden some, or more enduringly sustained. 

The year passed away. The last, odd day arrived, and a long, 
long day it was. It was the twenty-first of June, the longest 
day in the year. It seemed as if it would never come to an 
end. A thousand times did the duchess and her ladies watch 
the sun from the windows of the palace, as he slowly climbed 
the vault of heaven, and seemod still more slowly to roll down. 
They could not help expressing their wonder, now and then, why 
the duke should have tagged this supernumerary day to the 
end of the year, as if three hundred and sixty-five days were 
not sufficient to try and task the fidelity of any woman. It is 
the last grain that turns the scale — the last drop that overflows 
the goblet — and the last moment of delay that exhausts the 
patience. By the time the sun sank oelow the horizon, the 
duchess was in a fidget that passed all bounds, and, though 
several hours were yet to pass before the day regularly expired, 
she could not have remained those hours in durance to gain a 
royal crown, much less a ducal coronet. So she gave orders, 
and her palfrey, magnificently caparisoned, was brought into 
the court-yard of the castle, with palfreys for all her ladies in 
attendance. In this way she sallied forth, just as the sun had 
gone down. It was a mission of piety — a pilgrim cavalcade to 
a convent at the foot of a neighboring mountain — to return, 
thanks to the blessed Virgin, for having sustained her through 
this fearful ordeal. 

The orisons performed, the duchess ana* her ladies returned, 



184 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ambling gently along the border of a forest. It was about that 
mellow hour of twilight when night and day are mingled, and 
all objects are indistinct. Suddenly, some monstrous animal 
sprang from out a thicket, with fearful howlings. The female 
body-guard was thrown into confusion, and fled different ways. 
It was some time before they recovered from their panic, and 
gathered once more together ; but the duchess was not to be 
found. The greatest anxiety was felt for her safety. The 
hazy mist of twilight had prevented their distinguishing per- 
fectly the animal which had affrighted them. Some thought 
it a wolf, others a bear, others a wild man of the woods. For 
upwards of an hour did they beleaguer the forest, without 
daring to venture in, and were on the point ot giving up the 
duchess as torn to pieces and devoured, when, to their great joy, 
they beheld her advancing in the gloom, supported by a stately 
cavalier. 

He was a stranger knight, whom nobody knew. It was 
impossible to distinguish his countenance in the dark ; but all 
the ladies agreed that he was of noble presence and captivating 
address. He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs of 
the monster, which, he assured the ladies, was neither a wolf, 
nor a bear, nor yet a wild man of the woods, but a veritable 
fiery dragon, a species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful 
females in the days of chivalry, and which all the efforts of 
knight-errantry had not been able to extirpate. 

The ladies crossed themselves when they heard of the danger 
from which they had escaped, and could not enough admire 
the gallantry of the cavalier. The duchess would fain have 
prevailed on her deliverer to accompany her to her court ; but 
he had no time to spare, being a knight-errant, who had many 
adventures on nand, and many distressed damsels and afflicted 
widows to rescue and relieve in various parts of the country. 
Taking a respectful leave, therefore, he pursued his wayfaring, 
and the duchess and her train returned to the palace. Through- 
out the whole way, the ladies were unwearied in chanting the 
praises of the stranger knight, nay, many of them would will- 
ingly have incurred the danger of the dragon to have enjoyed 
the happy deliverance of the duchess. As to the latter, she 
rode pensively along, but said nothing. 

No sooner was the adventure of the wood made public, than 
a whirlwind was raised about the ears of the beautiful duchess. 
The blustering nephew of the deceased duke went about, armed 
to the teeth, with a swaggering unole at each shoulder, ready 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 135 

to back him, and swore the duchess had forfeited her domain. 
It was in vain that she called all the saints, and angels, and her 
ladies in attendance into the bargain, to witness that she had 
passed a year and a day of immaculate fidelity. One fatal 
hour remained to be accounted for ; and into the space of one 
little hour sins enough may be conjured up by evil tongues, to 
blast the fame of a whole life of virtue. 

The two graceless uncles, who had seen the world, were ever 
ready to bolster the matter through, and as they were brawny, 
broad-shouldered warriors, and veterans in brawl as well as 
debauch, they had great sway with the multitude. If any one 
pretended to assert the innocence of the duchess, they inter- 
rupted him with a loud ha! ha! of derision. " A pretty story, 
truly," would they cry, "about a wolf and a dragon, and a 
young widow rescued in the dark by a sturdy varlet who dares 
not show his face in the daylight. You may tell that to those 
who do not know human nature, for our parts we know the 
sex, and that's enough. " 

If, however, the other repeated his assertion, they would 
suddenly knit their brows, swell, look big, and put their hands 
upon their swords. As few people like to fight in a cause that 
does not touch their own interests, the nephew and the uncles 
were suffered to have their way, and swagger uncontradicted. 

The matter was at length referred to a tribunal, composed of 
all the dignitaries of the dukedom, and many and repeated 
consultations were held. The character of the duchess through- 
out the year was as bright and spotless as the moon in a cloud- 
less night; one fatal hour of darkness alone intervened to 
eclipse its brightness. Finding human sagacity incapable of 
dispelling the mystery, it was determined to leave the question 
to heaven ; or in other words, to decide it by the ordeal of the 
sword— a sage tribunal in the age of chivalry. The nephew 
and two bully uncles were to maintain their accusation in 
listed combat, and six months were allowed to the duchess to 
provide herself with three champions, to meet them in the 
field. Should she fail in this, or should her champions be 
vanquished, her honor would be considered as attainted, her 
fidelity as forfeit, and her dukedom would go to the nephew, 
as a matter of right. 

With this determination the duchess was fain to comply. 
Proclamations were accordingly made, and heralds sent to 
various parts ; but day after day. week after week, and month 
after month, elapsed, without any champion appearing to assert 



186 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

her loyalty throughout that darksome hour. The fair Avidow 
was reduced to despair, when tidings reached her of grand 
tournaments to be held at Toledo, in celebration of the nup- 
tials of Don Roderick, the last of the Gothic kings, with the 
Morisco princess Exilona. As a last resort, the duchess re- 
paired to the Spanish court, to implore the gallantry of its 
assembled chivalry. 

The ancient city of Toledo was a scene of gorgeous revelry 
on the event of the royal nuptials. The youthful king, brave, 
ardent, and magnificent, and his lovely bride, beaming with 
all the radiant beauty of the East, were hailed with shouts and 
acclamations whenever they appeared. 

Their nobles vied with each other in the luxury of their 
attire, their prancing steeds, and splendid retinues; and the 
haughty dames of the court appeared in a blaze of jewels. 

In the midst of all this pageantry, the beautiful, but afflicted 
Duchess of Lorraine made her approach to the throne. She 
was dressed in black, and closely veiled ; four duennas of the 
most staid and severe aspect, and six beautiful demoiselles, 
formed her female attendants. She was guarded by several 
very ancient, withered, and gray headed cavaliers; and her 
train was borne by one of the most deformed and diminutive 
dwarfs in existence. 

Advancing to the foot of the throne, she knelt down, and, 
throwing up her veil, revealed a countenance so beautiful that 
half the courtiers present were ready to renounce wives and 
mistresses, and devote themselves to her service; but when 
she made known that she came in quest of champions to 
defend her fame, every cavalier pressed forward to offer his 
arm and sword, without inquiring into the*merits of the case ; 
for it seemed clear that so beauteous a lady could have done 
nothing but what was right ; and that, at any rate, she ought 
to be championed in following the bent of her humors, whether 
right or wrong. 

Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the duchess suffered her- 
self to be raised from the ground, and related the whole story 
of her distress. When she concluded, the king remained for 
some time silent, charmed by the music of her voice. At 
length: "As I hope for salvation, most beautiful duchess," 
said he, "were I not a sovereign king, and bound in duty to 
my kingdom, I myself would put lance in rest to vindicate 
your cause ; as it is, I here give full permission to my knights, 
and promise lists and a fair field, and that the contest shall 



±£irj rvjjju u o vnuibjiij. 



187 



take place before the walls of Toledo, in presence of my 
assembled court. " 

As soon as the pleasure of the king was known, there was a 
strife among the cavaliers present, for the honor of the contest. 
It was decided by lot, and the successful candidates were 
objects of great envy, for every one was ambitious of finding 
favor in the eyes of the beautiful widow. 

Missives were sent, summoning the nephew and his two 
uncles to Toledo, to maintain their accusation, and a day was 
appointed for the combat. When the day arrived, all Toledo 
was in commotion at an early hour. The lists had been pre- 
pared in the usual place, just without the walls, at the foot of 
the rugged rocks on which the city is built, and on that beauti- 
ful meadow along the Tagus, known by the name of the king's 
garden. The populace had already assembled, each one eager 
to secure a favorable place ; the balconies were filled with the 
ladies of the court, clad in their richest attire, and bands of 
youthful knights, splendidly armed and decorated with their 
ladies' devices, were managing their superbly caparisoned 
steeds about the field. The king at length came forth in state, 
accompanied by the queen Exilona. They took their seats in 
a raised balcony, under a canopy* of rich damask; and, at 
sight of them, the people rent the air with acclamations. 

The nephew and his uncles now rode into the field, armed 
cap-a-pie, and followed by a train of cavaliers of their own 
roystering cast, great swearers and carousers, arrant swash- 
bucklers, with clanking armor and jingling spurs. When the 
people of Toledo beheld the vaunting and discourteous appear- 
ance of these knights, they were more anxious than ever for 
the success of the gentle duchess; but, at the same time, the 
sturdy and stalwart frames of these warriors, showed that 
whoever won the victory from them, must do it at the cost of 
many a bitter blow. 

As the nephew and his riotous crew rode in at one side of the 
field, the fair widow appeared at the other, with her suite of 
grave grayheaded courtiers, her ancient duennas and dainty 
demoiselles, and the little dwarf toiling along under the weight 
of her train. Every one made way for her as she .passed, and 
blessed her beautiful face, and prayed for success to her cause. 
She took her seat in a lower balcony, not far from the sover- 
eign ; and her pale face, set off by her mourning weeds, was as 
the moon shining forth from among the clouds of night. - 

The trumpets sounded for the combat. The warriors were 



188 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

just entering the lists, when a stranger knight, armed in pano- 
ply, and followed by two pages and an esquire, came galloping 
into the field, and, riding up to the royal balcony, claimed the 
combat as a matter of right. 

"In me," cried he, "behold the cavalier who had the happi- 
ness to rescue the beautiful duchess from the peril of the forest, 
and the misfortune to bring on her this grievous calumny. It 
was but recently, in the course of my errantry, that tidings of 
her wrongs have reached my ears, and I have urged hither at 
all speed, to stand forth in her vindication." 

No sooner did the duchess hear the accents of the knight 
than she recognized his voice, and joined her prayers with his 
that he might enter the lists. The difficulty was, to determine 
which of the three champions already appointed should yield 
his place, each insisting on the honor of the combat. The 
stranger knight would have settled the point, by taking the 
whole contest upon himself ; but this the other knights would 
not permit. It was at length determined, as before, by lot, and 
the cavalier who lost the chance retired murmuring and dis- 
consolate. 

The trumpets again sounded— the lists were opened. The 
arrogant nephew and his two drawcansir uncles appeared so 
sompletely cased in steel, that they and their steeds were like 
moving masses of iron. When they understood the stranger 
knight to be the same that had rescued the duchess from her 
peril, they greeted him with the most boisterous derision : 

"Oho! sir Knight of the Dragon," said they, "you who pre- 
tend to champion fair widows in the dark, come on, and vindi- 
cate your deeds of darkness in the open day." 

The only reply of the cavalier was to put lance in rest, and 
brace himself for the encounter. Needless is it to relate the 
particulars of a battle, which was like so many hundred com- 
bats that have been said and sung in prose and verse. "Who is 
there but must have foreseen the event of a contest, where 
Heaven had to decide on the guilt or innocence of the most 
beautiful and immaculate of widows? 

The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind of judicial 
combats, can imagine the encounter of the graceless nephew 
and the stranger knight. He sees their concussion, man to 
man, and horse to horse, in mid career, and sir Graceless 
hurled to the ground, and slain. He will not wonder that the 
assailants of the brawny uncles were less successful in their 
rude encounter; but he will picture to himself the stout 



stranger spurring to their rescue, in the very critical moment ; 
he will see him transfixing one with his lance, and cleaving 
the other to the chine with a back stroke of his sword, thus 
leaving the trio of accusers dead upon the field, and establish- 
ing the immaculate fidelity of the duchess, and her title to 
the dukedom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

The air rang with acclamations; nothing was heard but 
praises of the beauty and virtue of the duchess, and of the 
prowess of the stranger knight; but the public joy was still 
more increased when the champion raised his visor, and re- 
vealed the countenance of one of the bravest cavaliers of Spain, 
renowned for his gallantry in the service of the sex, and who 
had been round the world in quest of similar adventures. 

That worthy knight, however, was severely wounded, and 
remained for a long time ill of his wounds. The lovely 
duchess, grateful for having twice owed her protection to his 
arm, attended him daily during his illness; and finally re- 
warded his gallantry with her hand. 

The king would fain have had the knight establish his title 
to such high advancement by farther aeeds of arms ; but his 
courtiers declared that he already merited the lady, by thus 
vindicating her fame and fortune in a deadly combat to ou- 
trance ; and the lady herself hinted that she was perfectly 
satisfied of his prowess in arms, from the proofs she had re- 
ceived in his achievement in the forest. 

Their nuptials were celebrated with great magnificence. 
The present husband of the duchess did not pray and fast like 
his predecessor, Philibert the wife-ridden ; yet he found greater 
favor in the eyes of Heaven, for their union was blessed with 
a numerous progeny — the daughters chaste and beauteous as 
their mother; the sons stout and valiant as their sire, and re- 
nowned, like him, for relieving disconsolate damsels and deso- 
lated avidows. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE: 

A SKETCH FROM A STEAMBOAT. 
First Published in 1837. 

In travelling about our motley country, I am often reminded 
of Axiosto's account of the moon, in which the good paladin 



190 THE CBAYON PAPERS. 

Astolpho found everything garnered up that had been lost on 
earth. So I am apt to imagine, that many things lost in the 
old world, are treasured up in the new; naving been handed 
down from generation to generation, since tne early days of 
the colonies. A European antiquary, therefore, curious in his 
researches after the ancient and almost obliterated customs 
and usages of his country, would do well to put himself upon 
the track of some early band of emigrants, follow them across 
the Atlantic, and rummage among their descendants on our 
shores. 

In the phraseology of New England might be found many an 
old English provincial phrase, long since obsolete in the parent 
country; with some quaint relics of the roundheads; while 
Virginia cherishes^ peculiarities characteristic of the days of 
Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh. 

In the same way the sturdy yeomanry of New Jersey and 
Pennsylvania keep up many usages fading away in ancient 
Germany; while many an honest, broad-bottomed custom, 
nearly extinct in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing 
in pristine vigor and luxuriance in Dutch villages, on the banks 
of the Mohawk and the Hudson. 

In no part of our country, however, are the customs and 
peculiarities, imported from the old world by the earlier 
settlers, kept up with more fidelity than in the little, poverty- 
stricken villages of Spanish and French origin, which border 
the rivers of ancient Louisiana. Their population is generally 
made up of the descendants of those nations, married and 
interwoven togetner, and occasionally crossed with a slight 
dash of the Indian. The French character, however, floats on 
top, as, from its buoyant qualities, it is sure to do, whenever it 
forms a particle, however small, of an intermixture. 

In these serene and dilapidated villages, art and nature stand 
still, a-nd the world forgets to turn round. The revolutions 
that distract other parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, 
or pass over without leaving any trace. The fortunate inhabi- 
tants have none of that public spirit which extends its cares 
beyond its horizon, and imports trouble and perplexity from 
all quarters in newspapers. In fact, newspapers are almost 
unknown in these villages, and as French is the current lan- 
guage, the inhabitants have little community of opinion with 
their republican neighbors. They retain, therefore, their old 
habits of passive obedience to the decrees of government, as 
though they still lived under the absolute sway of colonial 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 191 

commandants, instead of being part and parcel of the sovereign 
people, and having a voice in public legislation. 

A few aged men, who have grown gray on their hereditary 
acres, and are of the good old colonial stock, exert a patriar- 
chal sway in all matters of public and private import ; their 
opinions are considered oracular, and their word is'law. 

The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that ' eagerness for 
gain and rage for improvement which keep our people continu- 
ally on the move, and our country towns incessantly in a state 
of transition. There the magic phrases, "town lots," "water 
privileges," "railroads," and other comprehensive and soul- 
stirring words from the speculator's vocaJjuary, are never 
heard. The residents dwell in the houses miilt by their fore- 
fathers, without thinking of enlarging or modernizing them, 
or pulling them down and turning them into granite stores. 
The trees, under which they have been born and have played 
in infancy, nourish undisturbed; though, by cutting them 
down, they might open new streets, and put money in their 
pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, that great object of 
universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no 
genuine devotees in these peculiar villages ; and unless some of 
its missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking houses and 
other pious shrines, there is no knowing how long the inhabi- 
tants may remain in their present state of contented poverty. 

In descending one of our great Western rivers in a steam- 
boat, I met with two worthies from one of these villages, who 
had been on a distant excursion, the longest they had ever 
made, as they seldom ventured far from home. One was the 
great man, or Grand Seigneur, of the village ; not that he en- 
joyed any legal privileges or power there, everything of the 
kind having been done away when the province was ceded by 
France to the United States. His sway over his neighbors was 
merely one of custom and convention, out of deference to his 
family. Beside, he was worth full fifty thousand dollars, an 
amount almost equal, in the imaginations of the villagers, to 
the treasures of King Solomon. 

This very substantial old gentleman, though of the fourth or 
fifth generation in this country, retained the true Gallic»fea- 
ture and deportment, and reminded me of one of those provin- 
cial potentates that are to be met with in the remote parts of 
France. He was of a large frame, a ginger-bread complexion, 
strong features, eyes that stood out like glass knobs, and a 
prominent nose, which he frequently regaled from a gold 



192 THE CRAYON PAPER* 

snuff-box, and occasionally blew, with a colored handker- 
chief, until it sounded like a trumpet. 

He was attended by an old negro, as black as ebony, with a 
huge mouth, in a continual grin; evidently a privileged and 
favorite servant, who had grown up and grown old with him. 
He was dressed in Creole style — with white jacket and trou- 
sers, a stiff shirt collar, that threatened to cut off his ears, a 
bright Madras handkerchief tied round his head, and large 
gold ear-rings. He was the politest negro I met with in a 
Western tour ; and that is saying a great deal, for, excepting 
the Indians, the negroes are the most gentlemanlike person- 
ages to be met ^•tih in those parts. It is true, they differ from 
the Indians in bimg a little extra polite and complimentary. 
He was also one of the merriest ; and here, too, the negroes, 
hoAvever we may deplore their unhappy condition, have the 
advantage of their masters. The whites are, in general, too 
free and prosperous to be merry. The cares of maintaining 
their rights and liberties, adding to their wealth, and making 
presidents, engross all their thoughts, and dry up all the mois- 
ture of their souls. If you hear a broad, hearty, devil-may- 
care laugh, be assured it is a negro's. 

. Beside this African domestic, the seigneur of the village had 
another no less cherished and privileged attendant. This was 
a huge dog, of the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, 
and a look of surly gravity. He walked about the cabin with 
the air of a dog perfectly at home, and who had paid for his 
passage. At dinner time he took his seat beside his master, 
giving him a glance now and then out of a corner of his eye, 
which bespoke perfect confidence that he would not be forgot- 
ten. Nor was he — every now and then a huge morsel would 
be thrown to him, perad venture the half -picked leg of a fowl, 
which he would receive with a snap like the springing of a 
steel-trap— one gulp, and all was down; and a glance of the eye 
told his master that he was ready for another consignment. 

The other village worthy, travelling in company with the 
seigneur, was of a totally different stamp. Small, thin, and 
weazen-faced, as Frenchmen are apt to be represented in cari- 
cature, with a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his 
ear. His dress was flimsy, and sat loosely on his frame, and 
he had altogether the look of one with but little coin in his 
pocket. Yet, though one of the poorest, I was assured he was 
one of the merriest and most popular personages in his native 
village. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 193 

Compere Martin, as he was commonly called, was the facto- 
tum of the place— sportsman, school-master, and land-sur- 
veyor. He could sing, dance, and, above all, play on the fid- 
dle, an invaluable accomplishment in an old French Creole 
village, for the inhabitants have a hereditary love for balls 
and fetes ; if they work but little, they dance a great deal, and 
a fiddle is the joy of their heart. 

What had sent Compere Martin travelling with the Grand 
Seigneur I could not learn ; he evidently looked up to him with 
great deference, and was assiduous in rendering him petty at- 
tentions ; from which I concluded that he lived at home upon 
the crumbs which fell from his table. He^gwas gayest when 
out of his sight ; and had his song and his joke when forward, 
among th£ <lecl~ passengers ; but altogether Compere Martin 
was out of his element on board of a steamboat. He was quite 
another being, I am told, when at home in his own village. 

Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he too had his canine fol- 
lower and retainer— and one suited to his different fortunes — 
one of the civilest, most unoffending little dogs in the world. 
Unlike the lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had no right 
on board of the steamboat ; if you did but look hard at him, he 
would throw himself upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if 
imploring mercy. 

At table he took his seat a little distance from his master ; 
not with the bluff, confident air of the mastiff, but quietly and 
diffidently, his head on one side, with one ear dubiously 
slouched, the other hopefully cocked up; his under teeth 
projecting beyond his black nose, and his eye wistfully fol- 
lowing each morsel that went into his master's mouth. 

If Compere Martin now and then should venture to abstract 
a morsel from his plate to give to his humble companion, it 
was edifying to see with what diffidence the exemplary little 
animal would take hold of it, with the very tip of his teeth, as 
if he would almost rather not, or was fearful of taking too 
great a liberty. And then with what decorum would he eat 
it ! How many efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if 
it stuck in his throat ; with what daintiness would he lick his 
lips ; and then with what an air of thankfulness would he re- 
sume his seat, with his teeth once more projecting beyond his 
nose, and an eye of humble expectation fixed upon his master, 

It was late in the afternoon when the steamboat stopped at 
the village which was the residence of these worthies. "It stood 
on the high bank of the river, and bore traces of having been a 



194 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

frontier trading post. There were the remains of stockades 
that once protected it from the Indians, and the honses were 
in the ancient Spanish and French colonial taste, the place 
having been successively under the domination of both those 
nations prior to the cession of Louisiana to the United States. 

The arrival of the seigneur of fifty thousand dollars, and 
his humble companion, Compere Martin, had evidently been 
looked forward to as an event in the village, lumbers of 
men, women, and children, white, yellow, and black, were 
collected on the river bank ; most of them clad in old-fash- 
ioned French garments, and their heads decorated with col- 
ored handkerchiefs^ or white night-caps. The moment the 
steamboat came within sight and hearing, there was a waving 
of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling of salutations, 
and felicitations, that bafHe all description. 

The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars was received by 
a train of relatives, and friends, and children, and grandchil- 
dren, whom he kissed on each cheek, and who formed a pro- 
cession in his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, fol- 
lowing him to a large, old-fashioned French house, that domi- 
neered over the village. 

His black valet-de-chambre, in white jacket and trousers, and 
gold ear-rings, was met on the shore by a boon, though rustic 
companion, a tall negro fellow, with a long, good-humored face, 
and the profile of a horse, which stood out from beneath a nar- 
row-rimmed straw hat, stuck on the back of his head. The ex- 
plosions of laughter of these two varlots, on meeting and ex- 
changing compliments, were enough to electrify the country 
round. 

The most hearty reception, however, was that given to Com- 
pere Martin. Everybody, young and old, hailed him before 
he got to land. Everybody had a joke for Compere Martin, 
and Compere Martin had a joke for everybody. Even his little 
dog appeared, to partake of his popularity, and to be caressed 
by every hand. Indeed, he was quite a different animal the 
moment he touched the land. Here he was at home; here 
he was of consequence. He barked, he leaped, he frisked about 
his old friends, and then would skim round the place in a wide 
circle, as if mad. 

I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to their home. It 
was an old ruinous Spanish house, of large dimensions, with 
verandas overshadowed by ancient elms. The house had pro- 
bably been the residence, in old times, of the Spanish com- 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 195 

mandant. In one wing of this crazy, but aristocratical abode, 
was nestled the family of my fellow-traveller ; for poor devils 
are apt to be magnificently clad and lodged, in the cast-on 4 
clothes and abandoned palaces of the great and wealthy. 

The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed by a legion of 
women, children, and mongrel curs ; and, as poverty and gay- 
ety generally go hand in hand among the French and their 
descendants, the crazy mansion soon resounded with loud gossip 
and light-hearted laughter. 

As the steamboat paused a short time at the village, I took 
occasion to stroll about the place. Most of the houses were in 
the French taste, with casements and rickety verandas, but 
most of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the wagons, 
ploughs, and other utensils about the place were of ancient and 
inconvenient Gallic construction, such as had been brought 
from France in the primitive days of the colony. The very 
looks of the people reminded me of the villages of France. 

From one. of the houses came the hum of a spinning wheel, 
accompanied by a scrap of an old French chanson, which I 
have heard many a time among the peasantry of Languedoc, 
doubtless a traditional song, brought over by the first French 
emigrants, and handed down from generation to generation. 

Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the adjacent dwell- 
ings, reminding me, by their light step and gay costume, of 
senes in ancient France, where taste in dress comes natural to 
every class of females. The trim bodice and colored petticoat, 
and little apron, with its pockets to receive the hands when in 
an attitude for conversation ; the colored kerchief wound taste- 
fully round the head, with a coquettish knot perking above one 
ear ; and the neat slipper and tight drawn stocking, with its 
braid of narrow ribbon embracing the ankle where it peeps 
from its mysterious curtain. It is from this ambush that Cupid 
sends his most inciting arrows. 

While I was musing upon the recollections thus accidentally 
summoned up, I heard the sound of a fiddle from the mansion 
of Compere Martin, the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gather- 
ing. I was disposed to turn my steps thither, and witness the 
festivities of one of the very few villages I had met with in 
my wide tour, that was yet poor enough to be merry ; but the 
bell of the steamboat summoned me to re-embark. 

As we swept away from the shore, I cast back a wistful eye 
upon the moss-grown roofs and ancient elms of the village, 
and prayed that the inhabitants might long retain their happy 



196 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

ignorance, their absence of all enterprise and improvement, 
their respect for the fiddle, and their contempt for the almighty 
dollar.* I fear, however, my prayer is doomed to be of no 
avail. In a little while the steamboat whirled me to an 
American town, just springing into bustling and prosperous 
existence. 

The surrounding forest had been laid out in town lots; frames 
of wooden buildings were rising from among stumps and 
burnt trees. The place already boasted a court-house, a jail, 
and two banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of Gre- 
cian temples. There were rival hotels, rival churches, and 
rival newspapers ; together with the usual number of judges, 
and generals, and governors; not to speak of doctors by the 
dozen, and lawyers by the score. 

The place, I was told, was in an astonishing career of im- 
provement, with a canal and two railroads in embryo. Lots 
doubled in price every week ; every body was speculating in 
land; every body was rich; and every body was growing 
richer. The community, however, was torn to pieces by new 
doctrines in religion and in political economy; there were 
camp meetings, and agrarian meetings; and an election was 
at hand, which, it was expected, would throw the whole coun- 
try into a paroxysm. 

Alas ! with such an enterprising neighbour, what is to become 
of the poor little Creole village ! 



A CONTENTED MAN. 

In the garden of the Tuileries there is a sunny corner under 
the wall of a terrace which fronts the south. Along the wall is a 
range of benches commanding a view of the walks and avenues 
of the garden. This genial nook is a place of great resort in 
the latter part of autumn, and in fine days in winter, as it 
seems to retain the flavor of departed summer. On a calm, 
bright morning it is quite alive with nursery-maids and their 



* This phrase, used for the first time in this sketch, has since passed into current 
circulation, and by some has been questioned as savoring of irreverence. The 
author, therefore, owes it to his orthodoxy to declare that no irreverence was 
intended even to the dollar itself; which he is aware is daily becoming more and 
more an object of worship. 



A CONTENTED MAN. 197 

•» 
playful little charges. Hither also resort a number of ancient 
ladies and gentlemen, who, with the laudable thrift in small 
pleasures and small expenses for which the French are to be 
noted, come here to enjoy sunshine and save firewood. Here 
may often be seen some cavalier of the old school, when the 
sunbeams have warmed his blood into something like a glow, 
buttering about like a frost-bitten moth before the fire, put- 
ting forth a feeble show of gallantry among the antiquated 
dames, and now and then eyeing the buxom nursery-maids 
with what might almost be mistaken for an air of libertinism. 

Among the habitual frequenters of this place I had often 
remarked an old gentleman, whose dress was decidedly anti- 
revolutional. He wore the three-cornered cocked hat of the 
ancien regime ; his hair was frizzed over each ear into ailes 
de pigeon, a style strongly savouring of Bourbonism ; and a 
queue stuck out behind, the loyalty of which was not to be 
disputed. His dress, though ancient, had an air of decayed 
gentility, and I observed that he took his snuff out of an 
elegant though old.-fashioned gold box. He appeared to be the 
most popular man on the walk. He had a compliment for 
every old lady, he kissed every child, and he patted every 
little dog on the head ; for children and little dogs are very 
important members of society in France. I must observe, 
however, that he seldom kissed a child without, at the same 
time, pinching the nursery-maid's cheek ; a Frenchman of th e 
old school never forgets his devoirs to the sex. 

I had taken a liking to this old gentleman. There was an 
habitual expression of benevolence in his face which I have 
very frequently remarked in these relics of the politer days of 
France. The constant interchange of those thousand little 
courtesies which imperceptibly sweeten life have a happy 
effect upon the featuues, and spread a mellow evening charm 
over the wrinkles of old age. 

Where there is a favorable predisposition one soon forms a 
kind of tacit intimacy by often meeting on the same walks. 
Once or twice I accommodated him with a bench, after which 
we touched hats on passing each other ; at length we got so far 
as to take a pinch of snuff together out of his box, which is 
equivalent to eating salt together in the East ; from that time 
our acquaintance was established. 

I now became his frequent companion in his morning prome- 
nades, and derived much amusement from his good-humored 
remarks on men and manners. One morning, as we were 



198 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

strolling through an alley of the Tuileries, with the autumnal 
breeze whirling the yellow leaves about our path, my com- 
panion fell into a peculiarly communicative vein, and gave me 
several particulars of his history. He had once been wealthy, 
and possessed of a fine estate in the country and a noble hotel 
in Paris; but the revolution, which effected so many disas- 
trous changes, stripped him of everything. He was secretly 
denounced by his own steward during a sanguinary period of 
the revolution, and a number of the bloodhounds of the Con- 
vention were sent to arrest him. He received private intelli- 
gence of their approach in time to effect his escape. He landed 
in England without money or friends, but considered himself 
singularly fortunate in having his head upon his shoulders; 
several of his neighbors having been guillotined as a punish- 
ment for being rich. 

When he reached London he had but a louis in his pocket, 
and no prospect of getting another. He ate a solitary dinner 
of beefsteak, and was almost poisoned by port wine, which 
from its color he had mistaken for claret. The dingy look of 
the chop-house, and of the little mahogany- colored box in 
which he ate his dinner, contrasted sadly with the gay saloons 
of Paris. Everything looked gloomy and disheartening. Pov- 
erty stared him in the face ; he turned over the few shillings 
he had of change ; did not know what was to become of him ; 
and— went to the theatre ! 

He took his seat in the pit, listened attentively to a tragedy 
of which he did not understand a word, and which seemed 
made up of fighting, and stabbing, and scene-shifting, and 
began to feel his spirits sinking within him ; when, casting his 
eyes into the orchestra, what was his surprise to recognize an 
old friend and neighbor in the very act of extorting music 
from a huge violoncello. 

As soon as the evening's performance was over he tapped his 
friend on the shoulder ; they kissed each other on each cheek, 
and the musician took him home, and shared his lodgings 
with him. He had learned music as an accomplishment ; by 
his friend's advice he now turned to it as a means of support. 
He procured a violin, offered himself for the orchestra, was 
received, and again considered himself one of the most fortu- 
nate men upon earth. 

Here therefore he lived for many years during the ascem 
dancy of the terrible Napoleon. He found several emigrantn 
living, like himself, by the exercise of their talents. They 



A CONTENTED MAN. 199 

associated together, talked of France and of old times, and 
endeavored to keep up a semblance of Parisian life in the 
centre of London. 

They dined at a miserable cheap French restaurant in the 
neighborhood of Leicester-square, where they were served with 
a caricature of French cookery. They took their promenade 
in St. James's Park, and endeavored to fancy it the Tuileries ; 
in short, they made shift to accommodate themselves to every- 
thing but an English Sunday. Indeed the old gentleman 
seemed to have nothing to say against the English, whom he 
affirmed to be braves gens; and he mingled so much among 
them that at the end of twenty years he could speak their 
language almost well enough to be understood. 

The downfall of Napoleon was another epoch in his life. He 
had considered himself a fortunate man to make his escape 
penniless out of France, and he considered himself fortunate 
to be able to return penniless into it. It is true that he found 
his Parisian hotel had passed through several hands during 
the vicissitudes of the times, so as to be beyond the reach of 
recovery ; but then he had been noticed benignantly by gov- 
ernment, and had a pension of several hundred francs, upon 
which, with careful management, he lived independently, and, 
as far as I could judge, happily. 

As his once splendid hotel was now occupied as a hotel 
garni, he hired a small chamber in the attic ; it was but, as he 
said, changing his bedroom up two pair of -stairs — he was still 
in his own house. His room was decorated with pictures of 
several beauties of former times, with whom he professed to 
have been on favorable terms: among them was a favorite 
opera-dancer; who had been the admiration of Paris at the 
breaking out of the revolution. She had been a protegee of 
my friend, and one of the few of his youthful favorites who 
had survived the lapse of time and its various vicissitudes. 
They had renewed their acquaintance, and she now and then 
visited hini ; but the beautiful Psyche, once the fashion of the 
day and the idol of the parterre, was now a shrivelled, little 
old woman, warped in the back, and with a hooked nose. 

The old gentleman was a devout attendant upon levees ; he 
was most zealous in his loyalty, and could not speak of the 
royal family without a burst of enthusiasm, for he still felt 
towards them as his companions in exile. As to his poverty 
he made light of it, and indeed had a good-humored way of 
consoling himself for every cross and privation. If he had 



200 THE CRAYON PAPERS. 

lost his chateau in the country, he had half a dozen royal 
palaces, as it were, at his command. He had Versailles and 
St. Cloud for his country resorts, and the shady alleys of the 
Tuileries, and the Luxembourg for his town recreation. Thus 
all his promenades and relaxations were magnificent, yet 
cost nothing. 

When I walk through these fine gardens, said he, I have only 
to fancy myself the owner of them, and they are mine. All 
these gay crowds are my visitors, and I defy the grand seignior 
himself to display a greater variety of beauty. Nay, what is 
better, I have not the trouble of entertaining them. My estate 
is a perfect Sans Souci, where every one does as he pleases, and 
no one troubles the owner. All Paris is my theatre, and pre- 
sents me with a continual spectacle. I have a table spread for 
me in every street, and thousands of waiters ready to fly at my 
bidding. When my servants have waited upon me I pay them, 
discharge them, and there's an end ; I have no fears of their 
wronging or pilfering me when my back is turned. Upon the 
whole, said the old gentleman, with a smile of infinite good- 
humor, when I think upon the various risks I have run, and 
the manner in winch I have escaped them ; when I recollect all 
that I have suffered, and consider all that I at present enjoy, 1 
cannot but look upon myself as a man of singular good fortune. 

Such was the brief history of this practical philosopher, and 
it is a picture of many a Frenchman ruined by the revolution. 
The French appear to have a greater facility than most men in 
accommodating themselves to the reverses of life, and of ex- 
tracting honey out of the bitter things of this world. The first 
shock of calamity is apt to overwhelm them, but when it is 
once past, their natural buoyancy of feeling soon brings them 
to the surface. This may be called the result of levity of 
character, but it answers the end of reconciling us to misfor- 
tune, and if it be not true philosophy, it is something almost as 
efficacious. Ever since I have heard the story of my little 
Frenchman, I have treasured it up in my heart ; and I thank 
my stars I have at length found what I had long considered as 
not to be found on earth— a contented man. 

P.S. There is no calculating on human happiness. Since 
writing the foregoing, the law of indemnity has been passed, 
and my friend restored to a great part of his fortune. I was 
absent from Paris at the time, but on my return hastened to 
congratulate him. I found him magnificently lodged on the 



A CONTENTED MAN. 201 

first floor of his hotel. I was ushered, by a servant in livery, 
through splendid saloons, to a cabinet richly furnished, where 
I found my little Frenchman reclining on a couch. He received 
me with his usual cordiality ; but I saw the gayety and benevo- 
lence of his countenance had fled ; he had an eye full of care 
and anxiety. 

I congratulated him on his good fortune. " Good fortune?" 
echoed he ; " bah ! I have been plundered of a princely fortune, 
and they give me a pittance as an indemnity." 

Alas ! I found my late poor and contented friend one of the 
richest and most miserable men in Paris. Instead of rejoicing 
in the ample competency restored to him, he is daily repining 
at the superfluity withheld. He no longer wanders in happy 
idleness about Paris, but is a repining attendant in the ante- 
chambers of ministers. His loyalty has evaporated with his 
gayety ; he screws his mouth when the Bourbons are mentioned, 
and even shrugs his shoulders when he hears the praises of the 
king. In a word, he is one of the many philosophers undone 
by the law of indemnity, and his case is desperate, for I doubt 
whether even another reverse of fortune, which should restore 
him to poverty, could make him again a happy man. 



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More Words About the Bible, 
by Rev. Jas. S. Bush 20 

Monsieur Lecoq, GaboriauPt.I..20 

' Monsieur Lecoq, Pt. II 20 

An Outline of Irish History, by 

Justin H. McCarthy 10 

The Lerouge Case, byGaboriau..20 
Paul Clifford, by Lord Lytton. . .20 
A New Lease of Life, by About. . 20 

Bourbon Lilies 20 

Other People's Money, Gaboriau.20 
The Lady of Lyons, Lytton... 10 

Ameline deBourg 15 

A Sea Queen, by W. Russell 20 

The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Haunted Hearts, by Simpson. ...10 
Loys, Lord Beresford, by The 

Duchess 20 

Under Two Flags, Ouida, Pt. I.. 15 

Under Two Flags, Pt. II 15 

Money, by Lord Lytton 10 

In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau.20 

India, by Max Miiller 20 

Jets and Flashes 20 

Moonshine and Marguerites, by 

The Duchess 10 

Mr. Scarborough's Family, by 

Anthony Trollope, Part 1 15 

Mr Scarborough' s Family, PtII 15 
Arden, by A. Mary F. Robinson.15 

Tbe Tower of Percemont 20 

Yolande, by Wm. Black 20 

Cruel London, by Joseph Hatton.20 
The Gilded Clique, by Gaboriau.20 
Pike County Folks, E. H. Mott. .20 

Cricket on the Hearth 10 

Henry Esmond, by Thackeray.. 20 
Strange Adventures of a Phae- 
ton, by Wm. Black .20 

Denis Duval, by Thackeray 10 

Old Curiosity Shop,Dickens,PtI.15 
Old Curiosity Shop, Part 1L... .15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part II 15 

Whit« Wings, by Wm. Black.. 20 

The Sketch Book, by Irving 20 

Catherine, by W. M Thackeray. 10 

Janet's Repentance, by Eliot 10 

Barnaby Rudge, Dickens, PtI..15 

Barnaby Rudge, Part II 15 

Felix Holt, by George Eliot.... 20 

Richelieu, by Lord Lytton 10 

Sunrise, by Wm. Black, Part I.. 15 
Sunrise, by Wm. Black. Part 11.15 
Tour of the World in 80 Days.. 20 
Mystery of Orcival, Gaboriau....20 
Lovel, the Widower, by W. M. 

Thackeray 10 

Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid, by Thomas Hardy 10 

David Copperfield, Dickens, Pt 1.30 

David Copperfield, Part II 20 

Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part I. . 15 
Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part II. 15 
Promise of Marriage, Gaboriau..l0 
Faith and Unfaith, by The 
Duchess 20 



200. 
201. 



The Happy Man, by Lover... 10 

Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray 80 

Eyre's Acquittal 10 

Twenty Thousand Leagues Un- 
der the Sea, by Jules Verne 20 

Anti-Slavery Days, by James 

Freeman Clarke 20 

Beauty's Daughters, by The 

Duchess 20 

Be>ond the Sunrise 20 

Hard Times, by Charles Dickens.20 
Tom Cringle's Log, by M.Scott.. 20 
Vanity Fair, by W.M.Thackeray.20 
Underground Russia, Stepniak..20 
Middlemarch, by Elliot, Pt I.... 20 

Middlemarch. i'cirt II 20 

Sir Tom, by Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Pelham, by Lord Lytton 20 

The Story of Ida 10 

Madcap Violet, by Wm. Black.. 20 

The Little Pilgrim 10 

Kilmeny, by Wm. Black 20 

Whist, or Bumblepuppy? 10 

The Beautiful Wretch, Black.... 20 
Her Mother's Sin, by B. M. Clay.80 
Green Pastures and Piccadilly, ^ 

by Wm. Black 20 

Tiie Mysterious Island, by Jules 

Veme, Parti 15 

The Mysterious Island, Part II. .15 
The Mysterious Island, Part III. 15 
Tom Brown at Oxford, Part I. . .15 
Tom Brown at Oxi ord, Part II . . 1 5 
Thicker than Water, by J. Payn.20 
In Silk Attire, by Wm. Black. ..20 
Scottish Chiefs.Jane Porter,Pt.I.20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

Willy Reilly, by Will Carleton..20 
The Nautz Family, by Shelley .20 
Great Expectations, by Dickens.20 
Pendennis,by Thackeray, Part 1.20 
Pendennis.by Thackeray ,Part 11.20 

Widow Bedott Papers 20 

Daniel Deronda.Geo. Eliot.Pt. 1.20 

Daniel Deronda, Part II 20 

AltioraPeto, by Oliphant 20 

By the Gate of the Sea, by David 

Christie Murray 15 

Tales of a Traveller, by Irving. . .20 
Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

by Washington Irving, Part I. .20 
Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

by Washington Irving, Part 11.20 

The Pilgrim's Progress 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, by Charles 

Dickens, Part I 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Part II 20 

Theophrastus Such, Geo. Eliot.. .20 
Disarmed, M. Betham-Ed wards.. 15 
Eugene Aram, by Lord Lytton. 20 
The Spanish Gypsy and Other 

Poems, by George Eliot 20 

Cast Up by the Sea. Baker 20 

Mill on the Floss, Eliot, Pt. I. ..15 

Mill on the Floss, Part II 15 

Brother Jacob, and Mr. Gilfil's 

Love Story, by George Eliot. . .10 
Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 



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